Nouveau
by Cranky Cauldron
Summary: A young Minerva McGonagall tries a new career away from the battle field: teaching. See her struggles and her successes as she learns to balance her new duties. Future ADMM pairing, fic set some fifty years ago.
1. Chapter One

_Disclaimer: No intention is being made to infringe upon J K Rowling's copyright as the author of a fabulous range of books._

This is an experiment of mine, just see how something like this might turn out… My favourite character has to be Minerva McGonagall, and I happen to like her paired with Albus Dumbledore, (don't say 'ugh!', get outta here!) so here is my attempt at how such a relationship might evolve. It involves a fairly young Minerva and is set some fifty years ago!

****

Warning: it is not finished but it was getting extremely long, so well, tell me what you think. Well, that was long and fairly pointless. On with the fic!

**Nouveau**

Minerva McGonagall, the brand new Transfiguration teacher, who had, contrary to popular belief, never taught before in her life and was in fact nervous to the point of being sick before all her classes, was stealing her way carefully through the dark corridors of Hogwarts.

It was midnight, and only a week into her first term as a professor at Hogwarts school, Minerva felt the need for some comfort food, she was feeling alien here at the moment, the youngest professor, and so very inexperienced at teaching.

In fact, she wondered, tip toeing past a portrait of Alfred the Great burning his cakes, why on earth had she decided to apply for the post anyway, she had been offered numerous posts at the Ministry after she had decided to move on from Auror duty, with much better career prospects and no children anywhere in sight.

Then again, she had hardly expected to actually _get _the job, she had no previous experience teaching children at all, it was just so ridiculous, the idea of her as a Hogwarts professor, she hadn't even had any younger siblings, just an older sister! Albus Dumbledore, the new Headmaster, (rumour had it that he had declined to become the new Minister of Magic, in preference for the Headship), had insisted that she was the perfect candidate, not least because of her excellent qualifications in the field of transfiguration or her Animagus abilities, but because in battle she had shown herself to be an outstanding commander.

Which of course was a fantastic compliment from a man she deeply admired, and who had also proven to be a superb leader in the war against Grindelwald, not least in the final titanic battle between the two immensely powerful wizards, which he had, coincidently (not that she had ever doubted it), won.

But what had that to do with teaching, how did that make her the 'perfect candidate'? Albus Dumbledore had been the previous transfiguration Professor, which was a high standard to meet, and Minerva hadn't felt up to it right from the start.

So, now, at just past twelve, she was creeping through the halls much like a rule breaking student, on her way to the kitchen to find something to satisfy her chocolate craving. It would have been so much more convenient to have used her Animagus form of a cat, but she had unfortunately been discovered by an amorous kneazle earlier this week, and was still in shock from the near experience of an experience she most definitely never wanted to experience.

Finally, Minerva was relieved to see the humongous painting of a full fruit bowl ahead, reaching up she tickled the pear which giggled girlishly, if that's possible for a fruit, and swung inwards to give her entrance. Resisting the urge to giggle girlishly herself, simply from lack of sleep making her silly, she flopped down onto the humongous kitchen table, empty apart from the occasional shiny serving dish, and rested her head for a moment upon its smooth, cool surface.

Her headaches had been getting worse, the stress of trying to succeed in a job she didn't have a clue about, and worrying that she didn't fit in with her fellow professors was showing in her physical appearance.

'Chocolate,' she muttered to herself indistinctly. 'Must have chocolate.'

Minerva had spent little time in the kitchens as a student, boys in her house had always seemed hungry, but she had spent much of her time with her nose in her books, or out on the Quidditch field, practising her seeker moves with the team.

There was a shoulder high latch door, painted refreshingly white, which opened to reveal a larder that defied belief in its endless gaping depths, Minerva, foreseeing dawn breaking with her still searching for the desired chocolate, pointed her wand expertly and commanded.

'Accio Chocolate!' Unfortunately, being unable to read her mind the contents of anything in the larder remotely including chocolate flew at her and buried her in a pile of sickly sweet confectionary. She was shoved inelegantly onto her back by the sheer weight of it all, and lay there for a moment, her vision obscured by chocolate icing, and her mind cursing herself for an outstanding show of stupidity. Thrusting her arms up she fought her way up to where the oxygen should be, cursing herself aloud as she spat out sweet wrappers from her mouth and tried in vain to avoid getting chocolate flavoured treacle on her once pristine white nightie.

It seemed as though everything she did at Hogwarts was turning into some sort of hideous nightmare, all she had wanted was some chocolate, something to soothe her troubled psyche and perhaps grant her some relaxing sleep.

Finally free of the chocolate contents of the larder and finding her desire for the said product sadly lessened, she banished the chocolate back to its previous residency and gratefully took the hand offered to help her up from where she sat.

'Thanks,' she said, sighing as she regarded her ruined night gown and pulling on her dressing gown as it was held out for her.

Maybe she could do without the chocolate and just go back to her quarters and see if she could glean some hours of sleep out of the early morning, yet she didn't feel deposed to doing so, her depression weighed heavily upon her.

'Perhaps you would join me for a hot chocolate?'

Minerva started in surprise, she hadn't realised anyone was in here with her, turning around she saw Albus Dumbledore, with a hand extended in invitation to join him, and only a slight twitching of his mouth showing how funny he found the situation.

'Headmaster!' Minerva exclaimed, embarrassed that she, an Auror, hadn't heard him enter and then further mortified to realise he had witnessed her ordeal with the chocolate factory. 'I didn't realise, I mean… what did you say?'

'Hot chocolate, I find it helps me to relax when I can't sleep, for what ever reason, and please, Albus.'

'Yes sir.'

'Albus.'

'A- Albus.' Minerva winced, it felt so wrong, everything felt so wrong, here she was, in the Hogwarts kitchens, well after midnight now, stood with her employer (famous, world saver, brilliant, genius etc), and clad in her (rather scanty) nightie and sticky dressing gown while he invited her to join-

'I'll take that as a yes to hot chocolate then.' Albus broke into her line of thought which was rapidly turning the usually calm collected woman into a blushing creature who had the mental stature of an insect.

'Okay, that would be nice professor, thank you.'

Albus sighed exaggeratedly, '_Albus_' he emphasised, frowning at her.

Turning he waved his wand at the far table and in a suitably glittering cloud two mugs appeared, coming to rest upon the large kitchen table.

'Join me,' he commanded, if gently, and she obediently sat down upon the bench.

Handing her a mug Albus Dumbledore sat down beside her, in a flurry of a deep red dressing gown with a golden fur trim, that must have put him back a few bob in Minerva's opinion. Noticing her attention to his attire, he explained, 'I was head of Gryffindor House for some time and some ex-pupils thought that it would be amusing to give me …this.'

'Oh,' said Minerva, wrapping her hands around her mug and wishing fervently that she had decided to forgo her chocolate craving this one night. To avoid having to make awkward conversation she sipped her hot chocolate and found it very hot, and creamy, and chocolaty, and: 'Mmm,' she enunciated unknowingly.

'A family recipe,' said Albus, smiling in pleasure at her evident delight.

'Is it a secret recipe?' she asked playfully, forgetting the situation, for a moment.

'Oh yes,' Albus pursed his lips, 'handed down from generation to generation it's the Dumbledore family's most secret, secret recipe,' he waggled his dark auburn eyebrows, and she smiled.

'So, how are you finding teaching at Hogwarts, Minerva? May I call you Minerva?'

'Oh, uh of course. Please do, sir -Albus.' Minerva winced, calling her previous head of house by his first name seemed just -wrong.

'After all, you are a valued member of the staff now.' Minerva interrupted him by giving a short harsh laugh. 'Is something wrong?'

'No, nothing, Headmaster.'

'Albus, Albus, Albus, what am I to do to get you to call me by my first name!'

Minerva said nothing, just made a vague shrugging motion and hoped that that would suffice, in truth she was wondering what Albus would say if she chose to quit, regardless of the conditions of the contract that said she had to finish the school year.

A light touch upon her arm brought Minerva back to the situation at hand and the concerned gaze of one Albus Dumbledore, whose sparkling blue eyes regarded her with deep concern.

'I am worried about you Minerva, you have lost weight since you came here, and you do not appear to be very happy, even my hot chocolate doesn't seem to be working!' Albus wouldn't let her look away, holding her gaze to his own strong one.

'I'm just not used to this sir, that's all.' Minerva tried to keep the lump in her throat from sounding in her voice, it would have worked with a less observant man than Albus Dumbledore.

'You're feeling isolated. Have you made no friends among the staff?' Albus kept his tone kind, but the unfortunate result was that he sounded patronising and Minerva's pride was ruffled.

'I'm _fine_, Sir!' she snapped, angry, hurt and all too aware that her eyes were watering, she turned her head away jerkily.

'No you're not, and I fear that it is my fault.' Albus sighed, 'I apologise for sounding condescending Minerva, I am simply concerned for an old star pupil of mine.'

Minerva stared at a far point on the wall, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes of water, 'Star pupil?'

'An animagus at age 17? How could you not be one of my favourites, though of course I tried not to show it, did you not know?'

'Is that why I got this job?' Minerva swallowed, embarrassed yet oddly pleased at this information.

'Good gracious no,' said Albus, firmly. 'You got the job based on your qualifications alone, it was a bonus that I had happened to work with you in Germany and you were once my star transfigurations pupil.'

Minerva turned to look at him again, trying her best to keep her emotions under control. 'I don't feel as though I'm doing a very good job Albus, and I don't feel like I fit in among the other staff.'

Albus' eyes twinkled in good humour, 'I expect they find themselves somewhat intimidated by you, my dear Miss McGonagall, you have a very forbidding stance, a 'keep off' aura, that can be somewhat off-putting.'

'I do?' Minerva was surprised, she hadn't noticed, she'd thought _they _had the standoffish attitudes. 'But you..'

'Are speaking to you? Well of course, but I'm the headmaster and I come armed with a great weapon- hot chocolate!' he chuckled at her discomforted expression. 'Actually, I occasionally have trouble sleeping,' he admitted, 'I find that more often than not hot chocolate helps, and so down I came to the kitchen, only to find that someone had had the same idea. Sort of.'

Minerva was taken aback at Dumbledore's unexpected confidence, but boosted by the revelation from the still energised older man - despite the early hour. She gave a tired smile, the great Grandfather Wizard clock showed the time as being nearly three am.

'Do you play chess Minerva?' asked Albus suddenly.

'Yes,' she stared at him, wondering where this was going.

'Then tomorrow evening I expect to see you at 8pm, my office, wear comfy clothes, I expect the game could go on for some time.'

'Yes si-' Minerva began to reply.

'I'm sorry, what was that Minerva?' asked Albus, putting a hand behind his ear.

'Yes Albus,' Minerva grinned as he nodded in approval and patted her hand, mockingly paternally, he got up, and held out a hand to help her stand. Minerva took it, surprised at the gentlemanly act and the strength of his grip.

'Good Night Minerva, I hope you get enough sleep, I shall save you a seat beside me at breakfast, be sure to be there to take it!' Albus smiled genuinely at her, his long auburn beard something to behold for its length, glittering in the candle light. They both clambered through the portrait hole, Minerva feeling happier than she had since the beginning of term, and paused before going their separate ways.

'Thank you, Albus,' Minerva said gratefully.

'My pleasure, I look forward to tomorrow night,' he winked at her, making her smile, relaxed, and then leaned forward to kiss her briefly on the cheek.

The warmth of his lips pressed briefly, and surely only politely, against her cheek, stayed with her for the night, and she slept feeling safe and secure within its memory.

She was sure he did it with all the lady teachers, as a gesture of friendship, purely platonic, but damn her if she hadn't felt something within her leap, and her heart flutter like a startled bird, her stomach drop and twist. Damn her…

* * *

The next morning, Minerva awoke feeling more refreshed than she had for days now, despite having only had a half dozen hours of sleep, the memory of her unusual encounter with the Headmaster last night still in her memory.

She dressed with attention to detail, trying her best to look smart, a buzzard feather in her witch's hat, her newest broach fastening her only tailor cut navy cloak, before heading down to breakfast in the Great Hall.

She swept demurely in, trying for a stern look by thinning her lips and creasing her brow, but found herself spontaneously smiling at students, ones who had already caught her attention in Transfiguration for their aptitude or keenness. To her own surprise she was greeted many times, with a shy smile or a bold good morning from the students, and an acknowledging nod from a fellow professor.

'Professor McGonagall,' someone called as she approached the High Table where the teachers resided. Minerva looked up, and to her pleasure saw Headmaster Dumbledore beckoning her to an empty seat on his right, she tried not to blush as she remembered meeting him last night, both of them dressed as if for a pyjama party and her covered in chocolate.

'Good Morning Headmaster,' said Minerva, taking her seat beside him.

'Good Morning Professor McGonagall, I trust you slept well?' responded Dumbledore, also using her formal title.

'Very, thank you,' said Minerva, reaching for the milk with a nervous hand, Albus Dumbledore pretended not to notice the unsteady way it poured into her rattling teacup.

'I also slept well, after a brief excursion. Would you like chocolate spread with your toast?' asked Albus Dumbledore with an innocent expression on his face.

'I'm fine with marmalade, thank you very much.' Minerva glared, then quickly covered it by taking a sip of her tea, the Headmaster seemed to have a way of making her forget herself and her position.

'You know _Minerva_, this isn't Auror duty in war torn German-Austria. Did I tell the rest of you that?' Albus Dumbledore abruptly changed tack and addressed the rest of the sitting staff, who swivelled eyes to stare at an awkward feeling Minerva.

'Minerva was sub-commander of the second division, central Europe, involved in specialist activities. When we took Grindelwald, she was right by my side,' said Albus, speaking lightly, for some reason he never used the personal pronoun when speaking of Grindelwald's defeat, and death by his hand.

There was a murmur of interest from the assembled Professors, who all regarded Minerva with renewed interest, she felt an intense need to change the topic of discussion away from her, she could see Albus was going to say more.

'I never could get you to change out of those hideous canary yellow wellingtons,' said Minerva, interrupting his open mouth.

'I liked them!' protested Dumbledore, grinning in memory at the bright wellies that had driven his next-in-command up the wall, beneath his official forest green Auror robes (specially charmed and warded), with all its trimmings of office and medals, he had worn an almost luminous pair of wellingtons the colour of a vigorous lemon.

'Wellingtons, Albus?' asked the good-looking Professor of DADA, Michaelmas Sendar in an incredulous tone.

'They were supremely comfortable,' said Albus, reaching for his third piece of toast and ignoring his deputy headmaster's look of disbelief.

'And they were, really, honest to Merlin, bright, vivid, florescent yellow,' said Minerva to Sendar, over Albus Dumbledore's head as he spread liberal amounts of raspberry jam over his toast.

'Weren't they against the Auror dress codes?' asked Elise Horner, a middle aged witch who was Head of Ravenclaw, Potions Professor and an innately practical person with a very pragmatic approach to life.

'Well, yes, and they stood out a mile, but what could I do?' Minerva shrugged in a helpless fashion. 'He was my commanding officer, still is actually, um.'

'Oh you complained enough, but you liked them really,' said Dumbledore nodding in a knowing fashion, Minerva raised her eyebrows at him sceptically.

'It's hard to believe that a man wearing yellow wellington boots could defeat the greatest, most feared dark lord since the days of the brilliant unrecognised might of Salazar Slytherin,' said Michaelmas Sendar, who was very proud of his House's past. 'Not of course that he was a dark wizard, just misunderstood.'

'Oh where do you get off, Michaelmas? Salazar was an evil sod and we all know it, you're the only one labouring under a misapprehension,' said David Hawthorne, scowling from beneath his heavy black brows, his fingernails showing the daily grime of working in the greenhouses, his handsome face creased with impatience.

'Salazar was a great Wizard,' began Professor Sendar in defence of his house.

'Of course he was, as were all the founders of Hogwarts,' said Minerva smiling in a non-aggressive, yet strict way that clearly said, lets not fight over this gentleman.

'Yeah yeah,' growled Professor Hawthorne, waving a dismissive hand, Professor Sendar just shrugged non-commitally and started in on his porridge again.

'Are you going for the post of Head, then?' asked Gill Aldridge curiously, she was the muggle born school nurse, an incurable gossip and in constant conflict with the 'wizard born' muggle studies teacher Markus O'Reiuss.

'Head?' asked Minerva.

'Head of Gryffindor, Professor Dumbledore here used to be it, only he decided to grow up and Professor Teaille left to watch stars atop o' Everest,' informed Gill succinctly, her wide toothy grin infectious.

'I hadn't realised it was vacant, but, uh no, I don't think so, I'm new to teaching after all,' hesitantly explained Minerva.

'New!' exclaimed Professor Sendar in surprise. 'Well this won't do. Albus, why didn't you tell us?'

'It didn't come up,' said Albus watching his deputy suspiciously over the rim of his jewel encrusted golden goblet.

'Do you know, I think you're the only person I know who drinks tea out of a splendid goblet such as that,' commented Sendar idly. Minerva laughed, she'd thought it was a bit early for the Headmaster to be drinking wine.

'The house elves refuse to give me anything else when I'm in the Great Hall, something to do with tradition, no matter what I do, whose cup I steal I always, _always_ end up with this ruddy golden goblet!' And to prove his point Albus Dumbledore set down his Golden Goblet in front of Minerva and took her tea cup. Sipping from the cup, it changed with a little pop, mid-swallow, back into his golden goblet; the staff found his distress tremendously funny, and were unsuccessful in hiding their mirth from the students. Minerva reached for his goblet, and taking it, took a sip experimentally, it didn't change or disappear, Dumbledore grumbled under his breath about house elves and being a slave to tradition. Sendar took the goblet from Minerva but immediately it slipped from his grasp and landed with a smack and a wobble back in front of Albus Dumbledore.

'Obviously doesn't like Slytherins,' smirked Hawthorne, as Sendar scowled.

'To go back to the original topic here, did any one else know that our young (and pretty) transfiguration professor was a novice?' Sendar received negative nods and knowing grins as Minerva began to feel a little nervous thinking about the initiation rituals of other institutions that she had endured.

'Well I think this calls for the usual. How's everyone for Saturday night?'

'Fine' was the general consensus as around the table the teachers nodded their heads and smiled at Minerva.

'What would be the 'usual'?' asked Minerva, worried.

Michaelmas Sendar grinned at her, 'What time do you finish today?'

'Three thirty, why?'

'Mind if I pop along and give you a hand with all those books and papers? I can show you where to store them, where we keep the spare quills and red ink, and where we put confiscated belongings…' Sendar smiled.

'That would be helpful, but what about-'

'I'll see you then,' said Sendar, getting up to leave.

'Oh, Michaelmas, don't be so cruel, you can chat her up later. Minerva dear, every time we have a newbie on the staff we give them a bit of a welcome, have a bit of a 'do' down at the local, nothing formal, just a party,' said Gill Aldridge the school nurse to a slightly embarrassed Minerva.

'And don't worry, the Headmaster won't be around to cramp your style,' added Gill, winking.

'He won't?' asked Minerva, looking taken aback.

'Looks like you've got competition, Sendar,' laughed the so far silent Markus O'Reiuss, muggle-studies professor (who also had a love of muggle tricks and pranks). Minerva blushed bright red at the insinuation.

'Ha!' proclaimed Sendar confidently, 'he doesn't stand a chance!'

'Hard as it may be for you to believe, you are not the only good looking man to grace the staff here, Professor Sendar,' said Professor Elise Horner brusquely.

Professor Hawthorne snorted loudly at this, and Professor Sendar merely bowed cheekily and left the Hall, Minerva touched her burning cheeks and wished she would stop blushing.

'They're only teasing,' said Albus Dumbledore. 'Though it is true I will not be present for your welcoming party into the fold, now that I'm Headmaster I'm excluded from these things.'

'Of course,' said Minerva, trailing off into silence before deciding it was time she left breakfast and got to her classroom to prepare for the day's classes.

'Don't forget, eight o'clock tonight Minerva,' said Dumbledore, standing with her as she stood, he had, thought Minerva, impeccable manners.

'I'll bring my chess pieces,' she promised, having not forgotten at all.

'I look forward to it,' said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling merrily, she found herself blushing without knowing why, and it didn't fade till she reached her slowly filling classroom.

* * *

Minerva was just finishing off a lecture to her seventh year students, to _not_ try the advanced human transfiguration outside of her classroom and her supervision, the effects, she said, could be hideous and permanent, she mentioned for example the man who had spent his life with a tentacle in place of an arm. The class all looked sufficiently shocked and slightly sick, that she could be sure they would not attempt it outside of her classroom, she had just told them to pack away, and prepare a precautionary safety list for homework when a knock came at the door and Professor Sendar entered, smiling.

'Good Afternoon Professor McGonagall,' he said, coming forward to the blackboard.

'Good Afternoon Professor Sendar, I won't be a minute.'

The seventh years, made up of Slytherins, (classes at this advanced level required smaller numbers for better concentration (and less accidents to explain to distraught parents) cast curious glances at their Head of House as they packed away.

'How are you finding my Slytherins?' asked Professor Sendar suddenly, perching on the edge of Minerva's desk as she piled together collected homework assignments and test papers to grade.

Minerva glanced at him, knowing full well that there were Slytherins near enough to clearly hear her answer, stalling she waved a heavy book at him, nudging him off her desk, he slid off with a good natured grimace.

'They are dedicated and willing students, I have no complaints Professor Sendar,' she said.

'I'm glad to hear it. You're not carrying all of that are you?' Sendar indicated the now rather large pile of books and papers that had accumulated in front of her.

'Well, I wasn't planning on starting a fire,' Minerva answered sarcastically, looking at him over her distinctive square glasses. Sendar didn't miss a beat in replying.

'That's good, the fire alarm policy here is hell to carry out. I'll take that,' he took more than half the pile from her as she tried to gather it all up herself, ignoring her half formed protests as he turned to leave.

'Good afternoon Professor McGonagall,' said a few of the students as she passed them, leaving, 'see you next lesson Professor.' she acknowledged them all briefly, but with a short smile.

Together Professor Sendar and Minerva made their way to the staff room, where Sendar showed her to her own, magically locked (opening only to her touch), wooden locker and the tall, (slightly leaning) cupboard which stored the students confiscated belongings, currently full of magazines, sugar quills, lipsticks, small fling able (from a bent ruler or a clever banishing spell) print pellets- which left a filthy looking stain on the victims clothing or skin and other odds and ends.

Other professors arrived, in varying states of disarray and temper, she was greeted as one of them, a tired smile, a shared wink, a resigned sigh, Sendar made her comfortable in one of the comfy chairs by the open fireplace, having placed her paper work in her locker, intending to do them later. Soon the other professors settled down, some already with heads down, busy grading, writing up reports on bad behaviour, marking down the points they had taken, others relaxing on the lengthy (a little worn) settee, or in the various chairs sprawled around the generously proportioned staff room.

Professor Sendar handed her a cup of tea, and sat down opposite her in a high backed yet well-cushioned velvet chair, its colour too worn to be distinguishable, the whole area had an atmosphere of warmth, of age old usage that was somehow comforting, combined with the comforts of the modern age, as Minerva accepted a biscuit from Madame Gill Aldridge, the school nurse.

'So, did you really stand beside Albus as he battled Grindelwald?' asked Professor Sendar, startling Minerva by his forthrightness.

'Not _right _beside,' she replied warily.

'Did you see him cast the spell?' he eagerly enquired, Minerva noticed that a few more professors had turned to listen, she pretended ignorance.

'What spell?'

'The killing curse of course,' said Sendar, a hush gathered around Minerva and Michaelmas Sendar at his bold words, the killing curse was after all a dark arts curse, that had only been sanctioned by the Ministry in the Great War as a necessary evil, _the ends justify the means._

Minerva could remember the war as clearly as though it was yesterday, yet at the same time it was so distant as to seem a part of another world, a world where terrible things happened without cause or consideration, for anything or one.

Thinking of Grindelwald still sent shivers through her, raised the hairs on the back of her neck, made her fear her own shadow and leap easily to paranoia. She could remember the very depth of his coal black eyes, the way they gleamed at pain and death, that eerie madness that had invaded his every gesture, his voice so high and thin, like his stick like body that would finally crunch to the ground like a bag of bones after a lengthy and bloody battle.

'…Minerva?' It was Professor Sendar, looking at her anxiously.

'Yes?' Her voice sounded high to herself, the other professors looked uneasy.

'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine. The war wasn't pleasant Michaelmas, can we talk about something a little more cheerful?' Minerva hoped he would take the hint, she had used his first name after all.

'Of course, of course, I'm sorry,' said Michaelmas Sendar, looking genuinely distressed, the other teachers concurred in a gentle murmur of support for her and the conversation moved onto the current gossip among the staff.

* * *

Later that night, at a quarter to eight, Minerva was to be found in her modest quarters standing in front of a full length mirror holding up a pair of emerald robes against herself, behind her, lying upon her four poster bed were several discarded outfits.

Why am I doing this, she asked herself, it's only a game of chess, and he said to wear something comfortable, it's not as if it's a date! Sighing she picked up a periwinkle pair of robes that she had only worn once or twice, as they were silk ball attire, _too posh_, she thought, _this isn't a date! Just wear what you wore today in class. Oh but then it'll look like haven't made an effort; but this isn't a date!_

Minerva glared at her reflection, and frowned at what she saw as an unsatisfactory appearance, her black hair was up in bun, according to her sister Cecelia, buns were a must have for school teachers, though Minerva's was somewhat lopsided, having eased it's way down her head in the duration of the day, a few strands of hair had escaped and now dangled annoyingly over her face which was pale, too thin and bony. Right, Minerva thought, determined to stop being such a moose and get on with it, she closed her eyes and scrabbled around on the bed, finally picking one set of robes out, before opening her eyes.

They were the emerald green ones, ones she would have worn during the school day anyway, as they were of a conservative cut in a good make, at least they would bring out the green in her eyes. She donned them, replaced all her other robes back in her wardrobe took down her hair, put it back up, tied it into two, twisted it up, it fell down, she put it back up into it's original bun, jammed her witches hat on then spent ten minutes searching for her chess pieces.

When she finally left her quarters it was already eight o'clock and she felt hot and bothered and extremely uncomfortable, she wasn't looking forward to this chess game at all. Half way up one of Hogwarts many staircases, Minerva bumped into Professor Sendar and scattered her chess pieces all over the floor.

'Oh really!' she snapped, exasperated at herself, Michaelmas helped her to her feet, and gathered her chess pieces for her with a wide sweep off his wand and a summoning spell.

'There you go. May I ask whom you're playing?'

'Professor Dumbledore,' replied Minerva, tightening the drawstring on the chess pieces' bag.

'Do I really have competition from that old codger?' rhetorically mused Sendar aloud, Minerva looked up at him, confused and clearly showing it.

'What do you mean, Michaelmas?' she said haughtily, her lips pursed.

'Ah my dear Minerva, I wish of course, to win your hand,' proclaimed Sendar, taking her slim hand in his large warm one and bringing it to his lips.

'Don't be ridiculous Professor Sendar,' said Minerva, blushing faintly. 'My hand is my own and not for sale, so please regain your sanity and stop acting like a love struck teenager!' said with some asperity.

'I am wounded my dear, to be insulted so; I am no love struck teenager!' Sendar grinned wickedly, still clasping her hand, Minerva gave him a warning look and gritted her teeth. 'But I must admit Minerva McGonagall, that you are a beautiful woman,' said Sendar, suddenly serious, he released her hand but held her gaze, 'and I intend to win you.'

Minerva couldn't think of a reply to that one, she was still ruthlessly suppressing an urge to turn bright red and find a way to extract herself from this embarrassing situation.

'I am not an object to be given as a prize, Professor Sendar. Now, if you'll excuse me!' Minerva didn't wait for his reply but turned and hurried away, feeling his gaze follow her, like two hot coals burning into the back of her neck.

She was ten minutes late when she finally walked through the door into Albus' office, but she was too relieved to just be out of Sendar's way and simply leant back against the door and exhaled a rush of air to try and cool her heated cheeks.

'Why oh why oh why did I _ever_ apply for this bloody job,' Minerva glared at the ceiling. 'Why a teacher? I should have stuck with hexing people! Or gone into the Ministry, or jumped off a cliff!' She banged her head back against the ornate door, catching it on one of the ornate decorations as she did so. 'Ouch! Ye gods… I HATE men!'

'May I ask why?' said the voice of Albus Dumbledore, Minerva winced and looked forward again to see the Headmaster standing in front of her, looking somewhat concerned.

'Ah, Headmaster,' she hedged, 'I was just, uh, ah,' she trailed off awkwardly. 'I bumped into professor Sendar on the way, that's why I'm late.'

'First off my name is Albus when we're not on duty, secondly Michaelmas announced to the staff in general at tea time, where coincidently you for some reason were absent,' Albus sent her a disapproving look, 'that he intended to … hmm, pursue you in a romantic fashion. And thirdly, you make a good teacher, the students respect you and you appear to enjoy teaching when you are doing it, did you really wish to continue a career as an Auror?'

'Well, no,' admitted Minerva, 'but I didn't expect teaching to be this, this… Hang on, _what _did Sendar say?'

'That he wished to pursue you in a romantic fashion,' repeated Dumbledore calmly as Minerva looked flabbergasted.

'How? But.. I'll… I'll,' Minerva fell silent, she had almost thought that Sendar was winding her up on the stairs, teasing her.

'He is a very handsome man,' stated Dumbledore walking away and beckoning her to follow as he did so.

'Well, yes,' agreed Minerva, blushing again as Dumbledore led her to an oval sitting room that led off his office, complete with armchairs, settee, fascinating ancient tapestries and a roaring fire. 'Only he's not, not my … type.'

Dumbledore cast her a questioning glance as he made himself comfortable in the large high backed chair beside the hearth, she sat opposite him in an almost identical one, accept it was less worn or moulded.

'I'm not attracted to him,' explained Minerva, realising it as she said so, 'I don't like the way he treats me, as if I'm an object and not a person,' she scowled, remembering. 'Plus he reminds of the sort of men who spend as much time looking after their own appearance as eyeing you up.'

'Michaelmas is slightly vain, yes,' concurred Albus, who was listening attentively.

'I hate men,' muttered Minerva again, 'the first time they see you it's smiles and compliments, then they become more rare and they start becoming vague, or criticising you. Then they suddenly decide that you're boring, the relationship's going nowhere, it's time to move on, and go off and chase the new piece of skirt on the scene.'

'Well,' began Albus, looking surprised, but Minerva was on a roll.

'There's no such thing as love! It's all physical, biological, hormones and procreation. Men are all bastards!' Minerva looked depressed and Albus was trying not to gape. He coughed and she looked up, dawning horror in her eyes as she realised what she had inadvertently said in a fit of pique.

'I don't think we're all bastards,' said Albus tentatively. 'Why don't you tell me what _really _happened?'

There was a silence, Minerva was studying her hands and feeling as if she had opened up entirely new levels of mortification. She didn't say anything, she didn't trust herself to open her mouth. After some more time had passed Albus spoke again.

'Sex is only a part of a relationship, love does exist.'

Minerva cringed.

'You don't think I'm a bastard do you?'

Minerva shook her head vigorously -no- she still wouldn't look up at him, she looked utterly chagrined.

'This is a first for me too, you know,' said Albus conversationally.

Minerva winced, his choice of words had not been particularly diplomatic.

'Minerva, despite the fact that I'm in my nineties I do still …' Albus stopped suddenly, wondering where he was going with that sentence.

Fortuitously Minerva chose this moment to speak up, in a resigned tone of voice, 'It took him a long time to woo me, he was gorgeous, intelligent, romantic, and all the other women were jealous. I felt lucky, I felt loved, but I think the only reason he was with me was for the challenge of 'winning' the ice queen,' Minerva sighed. 'I'm sorry for ranting at you like that Albus, but men and me, relationships and me, they just don't work.'

'He was a bastard,' said Albus shortly, startling Minerva, who didn't expect the stately Headmaster to swear. 'Unfortunately there are some men in the world who are like that, as such I would advise you to steer clear of Professor Sendar who has a reputation…'

'For loving them and then leaving them?' said Minerva bitterly.

'Yes, I suppose that is one way of putting it. Michaelmas doesn't see relationships as permanent things I fear, more in the nature of flings, and the challenge…'

'Of the chase. Yes I see, and I will. Thank you Albus. Not that I was even considering him.'

'Ah, so you have your eye on Professor Hawthorne instead?' chuckled Albus, teasing.

'He is just as handsome, and not so taken with his appearance,' smiled Minerva.

'Well that is true, but his mood swings are something to behold!'

'Are you trying to put me off him?' asked Minerva telling herself that she wasn't flirting.

'Oh I wouldn't dare, for fear of being labelled a Buh,' Albus' eyes twinkled with humour.

'I would never call you a Buh,' protested Minerva affectionately.

'Yes, but how do I know you wouldn't call me a Buh?'

'I just said I wouldn't.'

'Not a Buh, a _Buh_!'

'Oh I see, a _Buh_!' said Minerva, not seeing, but smiling broadly. 'Oh well, that can be arranged for a small price,' she grinned.

'Oh?' asked Albus cautiously, his lips twitching.

'The recipe to your hot chocolate,' said Minerva.

'If I told you that I'd have to kill you,' said Albus, doing that waggling thing with his eyebrows again, and making Minerva laugh out loud.

'Well then, we don't have a deal Mr Dumbledore,' said Minerva in her best impression of an evil voice, which made Albus snort in a very undignified manner.

'I have an idea,' said Albus. 'If I win this chess game, that we are about to have, you have to promise to never to call me a Buh. If _you _win then I have to agree never to give you a reason to think I'm a Buh, as well as supplying you with hot chocolate whenever you believe the occasion demands it!'

Minerva laughed, and reached for her chess pieces, 'I'll take you up on that one,' she said.

* * *

A few weeks later, some time into the term (long after a certain initiation party, that had gone surprisingly well), Minerva was enjoying a mug of hot chocolate in her bed, reading an autobiographical book on the four founders of Hogwarts at about one o'clock in the morning. She still had trouble sleeping occasionally and had resorted to reading and bullying Albus into providing her with mugs of hot chocolate (which she kept hot with a now perfected heating charm).

She had just reached the part where the founders had decided on a name, a combination of a walk in the forest, a crabby seer and a description of Godric and Salazar's behaviour at times (according to Rowena, according to the author of this book). When a child's scream jerked her unpleasantly back to reality, as it rent the air throughout the castle with its terror.

Without stopping to think, Minerva's Auror trained reflexes took over, she leapt from the bed, her wand appearing in her hand, her chocolate spilling over her bed covers and the cover of her book ripping, as the Author dived out of sight. But Minerva was out of the door, having stopped only to fall into her large dragon hide Auror boots, before racing faster than she had ever run before towards the sound of that heart rending scream.

She arrived at Gryffindor tower just after the scream ceased, shouted the password, leapt into the tower, her wand at the ready, and found herself face to face with Albus Dumbledore.

She was brought up short, but her wand didn't falter, she was poised to go into action on a millisecond's notice, balancing on her toes with her body tense.

'There is no emergency, Minerva,' said Albus, he sounded extremely angry.

'Who screamed?' she asked shortly, her eyes darting to the group of silent rather awed looking students stood in their pyjamas in the common room.

'Mr Black and Mr Weasley thought that it would be amusing to let loose a boggart on Miss Josephine Cully. However, having never before come across one, she was understandably terrified when it turned into Grindelwald, -the supposedly dead dark lord- believing him to be real,' Albus' voice sounded tense with restrained anger.

In front of him the two boys, Black and Weasley were looking incredibly frightened and ashamed, both were first years, as was Josephine, yet they came from long established wizarding families, whereas she was a muggle born student who had had no idea that magic actually existed before she received her Hogwarts letter. Minerva was furious, she had heard screams like that before in her career as an Auror during the war, and to have heard it now but as the cause of a _joke _was not at all amusing!

'This is beyond outrageous,' she hissed from between clenched teeth. 'Do you two boys have _any _idea how serious this is? Creating such fear and torment is _nothing _to be proud of, it is contemptible!' she railed at the two flinching boys, in her fury she was impressive. 'A despicable act, worthy only of Grindelwald's perverted tastes! I would not have thought two of my Gryffindor boys capable of such appalling behaviour!'

The boys paled, everyone knew the stories of Grindelwald's tortures, the media had reported extensively on the mutilated remains of the bodies found at his dark fortress, there had been children found amongst them. Being compared to such a creature, a dark wizard whose being had been feared by their very own parents, was a harsh judgment and one that shook them to their very bones.

'I will be speaking personally to your parents,' said Albus Dumbledore sternly. 'For tonight you will return to your beds, your punishment will be decided upon the morrow.'

Minerva addressed the rest of the students, raising her voice. 'There is nothing to see here, you will all return immediately to bed and go to sleep. If I hear _one _person so much as whispering to another I will start by taking 200 points from Gryffindor and then we shall see where I'll go from there! Move!' With this dire threat ringing in their ears the common room quickly emptied in silence, not a murmur of voices to be heard, and to be sure Minerva was listening very carefully.

'I am extremely ashamed of you both,' said Albus, addressing the two crestfallen, brow beaten perpetrators still remaining, 'go to bed now and go straight to sleep, you will talk to no one about this,' he waved them away.

'Albus,' said Minerva, after Weasley and Black had left, 'where is Josephine?'

Albus looked at Minerva, his face impassive, he was obviously still as angry as she had been a few moments ago, he moved over to one of the scarlet sofas and knelt down.

'You can come out now Miss Cully, I can promise you that there is nothing to harm you here.'

Minerva knelt beside him, 'Miss Cully?' she called gently. 'It's Professor McGonagall, come out dear, it's okay now, you're safe.'

There was a muffled sob, and then a small, tear stained face appeared, brown hair in disarray, long white nightie much stained with dust and eyes huge with shock, cautiously an arm appeared and then the rest of only-just-eleven Miss Cully.

'What you saw was not really Grindelwald,' said Dumbledore beginning to explain, 'it was a boggart, a shape shifter, that changes into whatever we fear most. What you must remember Miss Cully is that it is not actually the thing we fear, just a representation.'

'It wasn't real, child,' said Minerva comfortingly, and held out her hand for Miss Cully to take, to help her stand, the next thing she knew she had an armful of scared girl, which was unexpected, but Minerva did her best, picking up the small child and sitting her on lap, hugging her arms around her and making soothing noises, as the girl clung to her, burying a wet face and cold nose into her bare neck. It was a strange experience for Minerva, who had never held a child before, the nearest she had ever come was a 15 year old French boy who had lied about his age to join the war effort. He had found himself minus one arm after an Auror/Dark wizards clash, and had lain weeping inconsolably in her arms.

Minerva glanced up at Albus, who was watching with a funny expression on his face, as if he saw something more than what was there, just Minerva and Miss Josephine. The painting opened behind him and Gill Aldridge came in, looking worried and carrying a black medicine bag.

'I came as soon as I could Headmaster,' said Gill, approaching Minerva, with competent hands she disentangled the girl and had her wrapped in a warm blanket with a chunk of chocolate clasped in her hand and a dreamless sleep potion down her throat before you could say "Merlin's pyjamas!".

'Thank you Gill, I'm afraid she had rather a scare, involving a boggart. I think she ought to spend the night in the hospital wing,' informed Albus.

'Of course Headmaster. Minerva, are you okay?' asked Gill, glancing at the distracted ex-Auror.

'Yes. Will Miss Cully recover soon?'

'Nothing a good night's sleep and some chocolate won't cure,' smiled Gill, reassuringly, and then as little Josephine Cully's head nodded, she added: 'Professor Sendar is on his way here, he was just dealing with his own house, ordering them back to bed etc. I'd leave before he catches sight of you like that,' she nodded towards Minerva's attire as the tired woman stood, with the assistance of Albus' hand. 'I'm going to float our young charge here up to the hospital wing, come and see me tomorrow Minerva, we need to discuss a shopping trip,' she left quickly, floating the now peacefully sleeping girl on a stretcher she had pulled from her bag (after enlarging it).

'My attire?' repeated Minerva sounding confused, as Albus and her climbed out through the portrait hole, she looked down at herself. 'Oh,' she said, realising. As she had run from her quarters she had not hesitated long enough to put on a dressing gown, and was clad merely in a simple silken nightie that came down only as far as mid thigh and had delicate spaghetti straps and a scooped neckline. Her hair was tied into a loose plait that uncoiled down her back to her waist and the only other thing she wore were her dragon hide Auror boots, which must have looked extremely odd with her simple yet elegant attire.

'Am I allowed to make an observation?' asked Albus, his voice light.

'Yes,' said Minerva, smiling at him.

'Minerva!' cried a voice from further down the corridor, it was Sendar, he was jogging up to them, looking fit and polished with his towel robe failing to hide his muscular body.

'Damn,' she muttered under her breath.

'Are you okay Minerva? Albus, what happened?' asked Sendar, reaching out to put a hand protectively on Minerva's arm; she pulled away.

'A young muggle born first year came across a boggart, courtesy of Mr Black and Mr Weasley,' said Albus, quietly. 'The situation has been dealt with, for the moment.'

'We were just making our way back to our own beds,' said Minerva, pointedly.

'Then I'd be happy to escort you,' responded Michaelmas Sendar smoothly.

'That won't be necessary,' replied Minerva firmly. 'I know the way.'

Sendar looked at her, and then did a double take, his eyes travelled up and down her body, leaving Minerva feeling flush with distaste.

'That will do Professor Sendar,' said Albus, sounding disapproving. 'You may return to your rooms now that the mini crisis is over.' It wasn't a suggestion.

'Good night Minerva, I'll see you at breakfast,' said Michaelmas, giving her an intense gaze before leaving without so much as a glance at the stiff Headmaster.

When he had disappeared from view, Minerva gave herself a little shake, she did not want Michaelmas Sendar's attentions, she shivered suddenly realising how very cold it was, dressed as she wasn't.

'Here,' said Dumbledore, taking off his deep red dressing gown, the one with the excessive fur trim, and placing it gently over her shoulders.

'Thank you,' she said gratefully, feeling the warmth immediately. 'But won't you go cold?'

'Oh no, I have pyjama's on,' chuckled Albus, and indeed he was wearing a pair of surprisingly normal striped pyjama's except that they had bright yellow and pink stripes. Minerva found herself laughing, she linked her arm through his as they walked back along the corridor. 'What were you going to say?' she queried.

'I'm sorry?'

'You asked if you could make an observation…'

'Oh yes,' there was a pause. 'I was going to say how nice your boots looked.'

Minerva didn't reply, except to cast him a slightly bewildered look, which he did not return; she was for some reason disappointed, as if she had been let down, expecting something else entirely.

They reached the door to her rooms without further incident and stopped there; Minerva let go of his arm with a strange sense of regret, and mentally berated herself for thinking that way.

'You'll want your cloak back,' she said, sliding it off her shoulders and immediately feeling the bite of the cold night air.

'You may keep it,' said Albus, his deep voice warm in the chilliness, Minerva looked up at him, about to protest and froze. Sparkling blue eyes held hers as his hands reached out and lifted the cloak back onto her shoulders, for a moment his hands brushed her bare shoulders, skin to skin. She took a sharp breath, feeling every nerve in her body suddenly burn, goosebumps raise and the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

'Give it back to me tomorrow. Good night Minerva,' and Albus nodded his head cordially at her, smiled and left.

Back in her now cooled bed, slightly sticky on one side where a half hour or so ago she had spilt hot chocolate, Minerva wondered whether anything had actually happened just then or whether her imagination and the late nights were causing her to hallucinate.

When she finally fell asleep, it was curled up in his dressing gown.

* * *

The next morning, Minerva joined the breakfast table slightly late, she was delayed briefly by a sixth year Ravenclaw who had a question on some set homework, but then took a seat beside the school nurse, Gill, feeling surprisingly hungry.

'Good Morning Minerva,' said Gill, passing her the milk for her tea.

'Good Morning, Gill. How is Miss Cully?'

'Still sleeping, I expect she'll sleep well into the morning. You look tired, everything okay?'

'Thanks Gill,' wryly replied Minerva. 'It was a late night.'

'Oh really? Did we bump into professor Sendar …?' grinned Gill, winking suggestively.

'Gill!' protested Minerva, loudly, drawing some attention.

'Well, it wouldn't be a _bad_ thing would it?' teased the school nurse.

'I'm inclined to think so. I did bump into him-'

'Dressed as you were?'

'Unfortunately yes, perverted git,' growled Minerva, remembering.

'Oh,' winced Gill, 'like that was it?'

'Yes,' said Minerva briefly, the nurse understood and looked sympathetic.

'Did he try anything on? He's been known to be quite persistent.'

'No, luckily Albus was with me.'

'Albus? Since when was it _Albus _and not Professor Dumbledore?'

Minerva glared fiercely at Gill who started laughing.

'Since he rescued me from the attentions of a lecherous bastard!' replied Minerva shortly, taking an aggressive bite out of an apple. 'That reminds me, I forgot his dressing gown, damn.'

'You _what!_' exclaimed Gill, choking on her tea. 'What were you doing with Dumbledore's dressing gown?'

'Whose?' asked Elise Horner, who was seated beside the now gaping Gill.

'Never mind,' said Minerva repressively.

'I can't wait to see Sendar's face when I tell him this!' crowed Gill Aldridge, far too loudly in Minerva's opinion.

'Tell me what?' asked Sendar, stopping beside the nurse's chair.

'Nothing,' said Minerva quickly before Gill could begin.

Luckily at that moment, for Minerva, who had been wondering whether to go and drown herself or Gill in the lake, a large barn owl dropped a letter in to her lap, turning it over she saw it had the Hogwarts crest, which was confusing, since no one here would use the official crest just to send a letter to a fellow staff member. She opened it quickly, sliding her finger along the well known Hogwarts emblem, and unrolled it curiously.

__

Dear Professor M McGonagall,

We are writing to inform you that you have been recommended for the post of Head of Gryffindor House. If you are interested in this job opening and feel that you would like the challenging and rewarding experience that it would offer, please inform us by owl and we will arrange an interview for a later date.

Yours sincerely,

The School Governors

There followed a list of untidy scrawls indicating that all twelve Governors had signed it.

Minerva stared, who on earth had recommended her? Gill peeked over her shoulder and read it, nodding her head happily as she did so, Professor Elise Horner guessed correctly at its content and also looked approving.

'Well? Are you going to reply?' asked Gill.

'I don't know, I hardly qualify do I? I'm brand spanking new to teaching as it is!' protested Minerva.

'You do qualify,' said Elise Horner. 'You handled last night supremely well.'

'How do you know about that?' asked a bewildered Minerva.

'Oh, we listen to the students- and Gill and Albus were both muttering about it this morning,' said Elise off-handedly. 'It's not as if you haven't had experience dealing with troublemakers.'

'I think that somehow there is a difference between Auror duty and teaching!'

'You'd be surprised,' dryly replied Elise Horner, who was Head of Ravenclaw herself.

Minerva couldn't think of a reply to that, so she finished her apple and fended off Gill by saying that she would 'think on it', before leaving for her first class of the day.

When she reached her classroom her first task was to open the windows and let in some fresh air, it was rather brisk, but it would wake the students up, she turned around, ready to set out the ungainly pile of books that she had placed upon her desk and found someone there, doing it for her.

'Albus!' she said, taken by surprise.

'Hello,' he smiled up at her, startling blue eyes friendly. 'How are you this fine morning?'

'I'm fine, thank you. Albus, did you know that the Governors had offered me an interview for the Head of House position?'

'Yes, of course, I _am_ Headmaster.'

'Well, yes.' Minerva was dying to ask if he had nominated her, but didn't want for him to say no he hadn't, and find out it had been, oh dear, Professor Sendar.

'And yes, I did,' said Albus speaking into the growing silence, and regarding her with evident amusement on his features, Minerva went up to the desk and stood in front of him.

'Can you read my mind?' she asked, looking suspicious, but at the same time secretly delighted.

'Can you read mine?' he replied cryptically.

'No, though I sometimes wish I could,' said Minerva, turning around to lean against her desk.

'What do you think you would see?' asked Albus, coming to stand beside her.

'If I knew that, then surely I'd already be able to read your mind.'

Albus Dumbledore laughed, reaching out he gently squeezed her arm and Minerva relaxed, a soft smile grew on her face as she regarded the man, who in the last eight weeks not including the pre-term preparations, had become a valued friend.

'Do you think I'm up to it?' she asked suddenly, looking insecure, something very few people ever saw in her.

'If I didn't, I would not have recommended you Minerva,' Albus looked reflective. 'You were brilliant with Miss Cully last night Minerva, I have never seen that side of you before.'

'Nor have I,' she murmured, sounding sad.

'Perhaps you should explore it further,' said Albus, delicately.

Minerva folded her arms across her chest, a defensive move, 'That would involve finding a guy who isn't a "Buh",' she finally came out- with a bit flippantly.

'Well,' said Albus feeling a little awkward at bringing up such a sensitive subject, 'I would be very happy to have you as my Gryffindor Head of House, not least because it's extremely difficult to carry out both that and my Headship responsibilities.'

'I haven't got the job yet, Albus,' said Minerva acerbically, Albus ignored the comment and moved to leave, her students were gathering outside the class, the noise they were making was enough to bring the ghosts back to life.

'I'm not a 'buh' Minerva,' he said calmly, then realising what he had said, corrected himself, 'that is, I am your friend, if ever you want to talk.'

'Thank you,' she said, but her jawline was tight in unconscious anger.

'Professor Dumbledore!' she called out, as he opened the door to leave, and the students who had been about to pile on in, paused in respect. 'Ditto,' she said, her face impassive, but the flash in his bright eyes showed her that he understood, the students were of course clueless and there were many curious glances. Perhaps foreseeing uncomfortable rumours, Professor Dumbledore spoke up once again, from the doorway.

'Professor McGonagall?'

'Yes?'

'I'd reply soon for an interview, the position of Head of House has been unoccupied for some time now, and we do wish to reinstate someone who was Head Girl, on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and is a celebrated War Heroine for her part in the Great War.'

Minerva nodded her head, biting her cheek in an effort to keep from chuckling, or cursing the man. No doubt by the end of lunch more than half the school would know she had been Head Girl, and a Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in her time at Hogwarts- later to become one of the famous War Heroes of the era, a key figure in the defeat of Grindelwald. And who just happened to be applying for the position of Gryffindor Head of House; the man was a menace, a grand manipulator of events, and yes she'd kill him tonight.

* * *

Later that same day Minerva entered the hospital wing, in order to organise a shopping trip that Gill and herself had been intending for some time. It was silent, peaceful, inside one of the bed's was occupied by a girl, Josephine Cully, and she looked up as Minerva entered.

'Professor McGonagall,' she said, looking for all the world as if Minerva's entrance pleased her no end.

'Hello Miss Cully,' said Minerva, coming forward to the end of the girl's bed. 'How are you feeling today?'

'Fine, thank you Professor. Would you like a chocolate frog?'

'Thank you but no, I've just come from dinner.'

'Oh, okay,' said Miss Cully, looking awkward and pulling back the proffered treat.

'Well, maybe just one then,' said Minerva, going to the girl's bedside and taking the frog. 'I was addicted to these as a kid,' she chuckled as she unwrapped it.

'Really?' grinned a now buoyant Josephine Cully. 'Me too. Now, I mean.'

Minerva held the frog as it wriggled and attempted to leap from her hand.

'Darius Black said he always eats them when they're still wriggling so that he can feel them in his stomach, gross huh?' said Miss Cully, making a face.

'Ah, Mr Black has visited you then?' queried Minerva.

'Yes Professor, him and George came to say sorry and gave me the frogs. They've promised to show me around the castle, properly.'

'Oh really,' said Minerva dryly, 'I don't want to know what that will entail. They were nice to you…?'

'Yes Professor McGonagall, I think they felt quite guilty,' Josephine smiled happily, it seemed she had found two new friends.

Minerva smiled and looked at her card, every chocolate frog came with a famous witch or wizard's card, to her surprise she saw she had Albus Dumbledore; a strange jolt ran through her body.

'Who do you have?' asked Miss Cully, curiously.

'Professor Dumbledore,' replied Minerva factually.

'Oh there's loads of him, not that that's a bad thing,' Miss Cully added hurriedly. 'Here's one of you though, you look pretty.'

'There's a chocolate frog card of _me?'_ exclaimed Minerva, who had never heard of it.

'Yes, didn't you know?'

'No, Miss Cully, I most certainly did not.' Minerva curiously took the card from the girl and saw herself staring at her from the frame, it was a picture that she had not posed for, strands of hair were loose and fell in front of her picture self's face, smudges of dirt were on her cheeks and her Auror robes had been singed.

'I _look _messy, dirty and completely unattractive Miss Cully,' said Minerva, shaking her head at her disarranged visage.

'It says that the picture was taken just after Gr-Grindelwald had fallen,' said Miss Cully. 'I don't think you knew it was being taken Professor, it looks very natural.'

'Hmm,' was Minerva's response.

'Says here you helped Professor Dumbledore defeat Grindelwald, that only three of you came out alive, and one died shortly later. Wow. Did you really?'

'Did I really what?'

'Help beat Grindelwald?'

'That was mostly Professor Dumbledore's doing, Miss Cully,' said Minerva getting up to signal the end of the conversation. 'I'll see you back in school tomorrow hopefully, Miss Cully. '

'Yes Professor, thank you for staying,' said Miss Cully a little shyly, Minerva nodded her head and moved along to Gill's office.

* * *

Minerva was sitting in her appropriated dressing gown in her bed around midnight on a Sunday night pondering the efforts of the Gryffindor Quidditch team who had lost to Slytherin by 150 points that day, and wondering how her interview with the twelve Governors had gone that Friday, when her bedroom fire suddenly roared green and Albus Dumbledore's head appeared in the flames.

'Minerva?' he whispered quietly, and she immediately stood and went to the fireplace.

'What's wrong Albus?' she asked, already running over the defences of the castle in her mind.

'Nothing,' he replied, she gave an exasperated sigh.

'Then why did you wake me?' she demanded.

'I wondered if you were awake,' said Albus, giving her a wicked smile designed to make her lose her frown and smile back. It worked.

'Well, I was. What did you want?'

'Well, I wondered if you'd care for a game of chess,' said Albus off-handedly.

'Albus! It's …' Minerva looked around for the time but couldn't find a clock. '_Very _late.'

'I know, but I can't sleep,' said Albus, having the grace to look slightly sheepish.

'Well, okay then,' agreed Minerva, trying to sound reluctant, but inwardly rather pleased that he'd come to her. 'But you can come here, to my quarters, we always seem to play in your sitting room.'

'That's because I have one, you have a study,' pointed out Albus practically.

'I also have a large bedroom with several comfy chairs and a large open fire,' said Minerva glaring at him.

'I was only teasing,' said Albus, his eyes twinkling. 'Stand back,' he warned as he stepped into the fireplace and travelled through the internal floo system to her bedroom fire place.

'Welcome to my humble abode,' greeted Minerva matter-of-factly, as the Headmaster of Hogwarts stepped from her fireplace wearing a pair of red and gold pyjamas.

'Why thank you,' chuckled Albus, glancing around the bedroom.

'Gryffindor colours? You're showing your house prejudices,' teased Minerva, referring to his pyjamas as she offered him one of two comfortable looking plain lounges beside the fire.

'Oh I don't think so, after all, you're the only one who sees my night time attire,' easily replied Albus, blue eyes sparkling as he pulled up a coffee table to place the chess board on.

'Ouch,' winced Minerva. 'Don't tell anyone else that Albus, they'll think you're a sad old man who lives a lonely life in his solitary tower.'

'But I am, Minerva,' said Dumbledore, hands twirling his beard as he often did when troubled or thinking over a matter of some importance (or not, one never knew with Albus).

'Don't be ridiculous,' said Minerva sharply. 'You could have any lady you wanted if you smiled and were as charming as you can be to me on occasion.'

Albus Dumbledore looked up and smiled warmly at the beautiful lady across from him. 'Actually that's a good point,' he said.

'What is? You flirting?' Minerva made a grimace as if the notion pained her, Albus stretched out a foot and kicked her softly in objection.

'No, my dear. The point about my night wear. Which reminds me, is that my dressing gown?' asked Albus with some suspicion.

Minerva flushed red, she had forgotten she wore it, she was supposed to have given it back to the Headmaster some nights ago, but kept, ah, forgetting. Her Gryffindor backbone stood her in good stead.

'What, this?' she asked innocently, lifting the heavy fur edged material.

'Yes that,' said Dumbledore his lips trying to restrain a smile that almost was a smirk.

'Well I suppose it might be,' said Minerva looking as if the idea was entirely novel to her.

'Perhaps we can prove it,' suggested Albus, standing. Moving over to her he took her hands and pulled her up from her seat. 'As I suspected, the dressing gown is too large for you,' he stated triumphantly, pointing out that an inch, at least, rested on the floor.

'I bought it so I could grow into it,' said Minerva, her lips curving into a smile.

'I think you're past growing spurts Minerva,' murmured Albus with a knowing look that for some reason bought a flush of colour to Minerva's cheeks.

'Well they say you start to shrink when you reach old age,' she retaliated, looking pointedly at him, he winced exaggeratedly.

'Are you implying that I'm old and shrinking Minerva?' he asked, standing as he did, several inches taller than her.

'Possibly not old, but shrinking, you never know.'

'Should I point out that I'm taller than you, here?' said Albus as if speaking a thought aloud, but rather dramatically.

'I'm not overly tall,' said Minerva, tilting her head just slightly to look directly up into his blue eyes.

'For a woman, I think you are,' said Albus seriously.

'Are you implying that all woman are short? Or that I'm unnatural in some way?' said Minerva with a challenge inherent in her tone.

'Are you implying that I'm old and small?'

'Touché,' laughed Minerva, then she did something she had wanted to do for ages; she reached up and gently tweaked his beard.

'What was that for?' asked Albus, his lips quirked.

'There's something about your beard that makes it tweakable,' said Minerva, beaming up at him cheekily.

'Grow one of your own and tweak it yourself,' recommended Albus nonchalantly.

'_Grow one of my own_? Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore if you don't watch it I'll, I'll…' growled Minerva.

'You know, I swear I can see some whiskers already,' said Albus, pretending to peer closely at her chin and upper lip.

Minerva yelped, hit him across the head and then bounded across to the bathroom and a mirror, his spirited laughter followed her in there.

When she emerged, having carefully checked her face for any hair, and found no trace of any sprouting whiskers, Minerva was ready to curse him to India and back despite knowing that he had been teasing her.

'Albus?' she called out quietly.

'Hmmm?' responded Albus, he looked half asleep in one of her loungers, and seeing him, Minerva decided to send him back to bed, she looked at him, with his eyes closed and his face relaxed, and felt a cocoon of warmth surround her in a feeling of safety and well-being. It was good to have friends such as Albus.

'I think you should go to bed,' she said, sitting on the edge of his chair.

'Me too,' agreed Albus, he half opened his eyes and smiled at her. 'You can keep the dressing gown, for now.'

'It's mine forever; I've converted it,' cackled Minerva, sounding quite insane for a moment.

'Ever thought of doing Macbeth?' asked Albus rhetorically, for he stood and stretched before bending down and kissing her cheek good night.

'I'm glad to have you as my friend, Albus,' spoke up Minerva suddenly, just as he was about to step into the fire.

'I do add a certain panache to things, don't I?' said Albus wittily, avoiding her hand as she went to bat him around the head again, and muttering something about bruises that was swallowed by the roar of the fire.

* * *

_  
Author: To be continued! Honest, the final chapter is being rewritten constantly as you read this, eventually I'll be happy with it!_


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: War is a terrible thing, expect plenty of PTSD in this chapter, it could possibly be a little disturbing in the intensity of the emotions expressed. Oh and plenty of useless fluff. ;-)

****

Nouveau Chapter Two

One breakfast morning, Minerva McGonagall was making a good breakfast of porridge and toast when Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stopped beside her chair and handed her an official envelope emblazoned with a large Hogwarts crest.

'What's this?' Minerva asked the tall auburn haired man.

'What do you think?' he replied, smiling. Dropping her spoon, Minerva McGonagall, picked up the envelope and stared at it in nervous anticipation.

'Well?' asked Gill, bouncing on her chair. 'Did you get it? Did you get the job?'

'Oh I can't!' said Minerva. 'You open it.' she handed the letter back to Dumbledore but he laughed and refused it, biting her lip Minerva opened the letter slowly, as if it was a petrol bomb, and unfolded it to read the contents.

The staff table fell silent, even those who had also applied for the position listened eagerly, for some hint as to whether she had been chosen.

'I… I,' stuttered Minerva.

'_What_?' demanded Gill Aldridge in frustration.

'I got it!' cried Minerva, giving an hysterical laugh.

'YYYEEEEESSSSS!' shrieked Gill, as George Hall, the flying instructor, who had also applied, got up and more quietly congratulated Minerva on her new position.

'I can't believe it,' said Minerva, as she shook George's hand. 'Oh wow.'

'Guess that means you'll be staying with us for a few more years then,' said Sendar, bending, uninvited, to kiss her cheek, and causing whistles from the student body. 

'Yes,' agreed Minerva, a little weakly, she turned to beam at Albus but he had moved to his seat at the head of the table. 

'Welcome to the Head of House's select committee,' said David Hawthorne, a little sarcastically. 'Lots more staff meetings with the glorious Headmaster, the flavoursome task of assigning detentions, assorted sets of mollycoddling and the odd suspension, all with extra mountains of paperwork and being force fed lemon drops.'

'I rather like lemon drops,' said Minerva absently as she re-read the letter and the looked over the smaller details.

'Do you indeed?' said Professor Horner, caustically. 'I don't suppose you once introduced them to the Headmaster?'

'Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I think I might have,' said Minerva, innocently naïve of any crime. 'Why?'

'You'll soon find out,' replied Horner, pursing her lips and looking a little sour.

The familiar ting of a utensil against a glass interrupted the noisy hall, and Professor Dumbledore stood up, smiling benignly around at his student body.

'Good Morning all!' he cried, enthusiastically, and received a vociferous response, the pupils loved their eccentric Headmaster. 'I have an announcement to make. We have finally selected our new Head of Gryffindor.' There was a murmur of interest as Dumbledore paused for dramatic effect, he was like that sometimes. 'Professor McGonagall is Gryffindor's new Head of House, and I hope that you will all…' he stopped as he was drowned out by cheers from the entire school. '…give her a good welcome,' he finished lamely, looking pleasantly surprised. 

Minerva was gob smacked at the applause she was getting, it helped of course that the school had known that Professor Hickory, the sour, slightly crippled teacher of Care of Magical Creatures, with a deep abiding hatred for everyone who wasn't one of his animals, had also applied. Of course she was also an attractive woman- younger than the rest of the staff- with a confident, capable air about her that made her seem reliable and far older than her years.

She stood, and immediately somewhere in the region of eight hundred and sixty three pairs of eyes turned to rest on her, making her feel like her breakfast of porridge now consisted of lead and cement grinding away her stomach.

__

Oh shit she thought and praised Albus' bravery for doing this every day. 'Thank you,' she said, and paused, cringing. 'I am honoured to have this position.' and then sat down abruptly, her cheeks flushing pink against her most vehement desire that they didn't. The pupils cheered loudly and then settled down again at Professor Dumbledore's suggestion of empty tummies and a full four hours till lunch. Minerva toyed with her toast and drank some tea, all the while wishing she could escape away to blush in privacy, for some reason she had an absurd desire to cry. Just a few months ago she had wanted nothing more than to leave Hogwarts for ever, now the thought of leaving made her terribly melancholy. 

~*~*~*~

Later that same day, as Minerva was marking homework in her classroom, finding the quiet more conducive to progress than the chatter of the staff room, a knock at her door sounded and she called out, 'Come in!'

Professor Michaelmas Sendar entered, a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, Minerva laid down her quill and waited for the inevitable.

'Thought we might have a drink, to celebrate your new job!' said Michaelmas, setting the glasses down on her desk and confidently sure of his welcome.

'Michaelmas, I'm marking,' pointed out Minerva, slightly sharply.

'Can't pause for five minutes to celebrate with a friend?' 

His wording caught Minerva's attention, and her relief at his emphasis on 'friend' made her friendly.

'Okay, why not,' she smiled at him, and he pulled up a stool to sit in front of her desk.

'Dumbledore will be around soon, you know,' he said, watching her closely. 'To show you around Gryffindor tower and brief you on your duties.'

'I already know my way around Gryffindor Tower,' said Minerva.

'As a student, yes, but the Head of House has the short cuts and the paintings to keep an eye on things when the students think no one's around,' he grinned at her. 'You'll be moving rooms again too, you realise.'

'Why?' asked Minerva, puzzled.

'Head's of Houses have bigger quarters. You can come and look around mine if you like,' suggested Michaelmas, slyly.

'If I'm having my own, I don't see the point,' said Minerva tersely, but she couldn't bring herself to be angry at him for a bit of light flirting. 

The cork on the bottle popped out with a loud bang as Sendar tapped it with his wand, froth bubbled forth and the ensuing chaos caused much mirth. Homework was sent flying to somewhere dry, the glasses wobbled precariously and then overflowed as Michaelmas fell off the three legged stool, and flung the bottle up over Minerva, who got drenched before stemming the flow, and her favourite quill wilted as it became excessively drunk, ah, dunked.

'Oh, I'm so. So sorry,' gasped Michaelmas as he righted himself and his stool, he lifted a glass and raised it, Minerva, laughing herself, followed suit. 'To decanters, house elves, your beautiful self and congrats on your new position!'

They clinked glasses and drank.

'I'm soaked!' complained Minerva, not without reason.

'In a very good bottle of bubbly,' said Michaelmas. 'It could be worse, it could be a cheap bottle of Hogs Head red.'

Minerva laughed, despite herself. 'That would be bad, red would stain,' she looked down at her wet robes. 'Do you suppose a drying charm would work?'

'No,' said Michaelmas with the air of someone who knows by experience. 'You might not be wet but you'd smell like an alcoholic.'

Minerva cast him an amused glance, and drank some more of the champagne. 'Let's hope I don't run into any of the students then, on my way back to my quarters.'

'Let's hope,' he agreed vaguely. Sendar lifted the bottle and refilled their glasses. 'So, you think this is it then?'

'This is what?'

'What you want to do with your life. Teaching.'

'Oh, well, I'm content to stay here for some years, yes.'

'You don't want to see the world, discover the fourteenth use of dragon's blood, become a famous singer…' wondered Sendar.

'I've travelled the world. Not extensively, but enough so that I don't have the 'wander lust' any longer, and my singing is reserved for when I'm in the shower. What about you?'

'I'd like to … do something with my life yet. I feel like something's missing,' mused Sendar thoughtfully.

'Have you always been a teacher?' asked Minerva, curiously.

'No, I worked in the family business for a while, till my younger brother was old enough to take over. Then I somehow fell into teaching, not here, at a local comprehensive.'

'Perhaps you should take a Sabbatical,' suggested Minerva, downing her glass, Sendar had already refilled his again. 'What is your family business?'

'Nothing thrilling. Printing books, text books mostly, magical of course.'

'Of course,' agreed Minerva, hiding a smile behind her hand.

'That's how I met Dumbledore. I was back at the family home for the summer, running the business so that Quas, his wife and the brats could have a holiday. Dumbledore had been asked to proof read a transfiguration text book by some company, only they'd left it a little late and we were just about to start the press when he apparated in, waving his arms around and calling out 'Stop! Stop!'. He had spotted a fairly drastic error in one of the equations they'd written, something about turning a person into a liquid rather than a frog. Didn't have a clue myself, transfiguration is too much of a science for my poor brain to comprehend.'

'I believe the problem was fairly basic,' said Minerva calmly. 'If you transfigure someone into a liquid, if some of it should run down a drain, or evaporate, you cannot transfigure them back into their true form.'

Sendar looked horrified. 'Merlin's balls!' he swore loudly.

'Michaelmas!' admonished Minerva, though it was a serious predicament to ever be in.

'Seriously- they can't be transfigured back?'

'Not unless you happen to be Albus Dumbledore,' said Minerva. 'Some time ago now, a fifth year student was accidentally transfigured into a liquid by a fellow student, if Albus hadn't been there… Well, that was the reason they banned human transfiguration for those below NEWT level.'

'I didn't know that,' said Sendar, musingly. There was a comfortable silence.

'It's no use Michaelmas,' sighed Minerva, lifting up her now sticky (and extremely uncomfortable) skirt. 'I'm simply going to have to go and change. We're going to have cut this short I'm afraid.'

'What, the skirt?' grinned Michaelmas, standing with her, and making her chuckle.

'You know what I mean,' said Minerva, walking out from the desk and holding her empty (again) glass out to him. 

'I feel like I'm in a musical,' said Sendar, suddenly.

'Oh?' asked Minerva, seeing no reason for his comment.

'Absolutely,' his blue eyes, looked wickedly at her.

'Don't even think about it,' she warned, not sure what she was warning against, her lips twitching into an unwilling smile, the alcohol making her much more relaxed than she was normally.

'Absolutely not,' he agreed seriously.

Then without warning, as his hand closed on the glass she held out, he grasped her arm, and in a perfectly smooth arc had her leaning back in his arms, securely held within capable arms.

Minerva gasped, not sure herself whether it was in outrage or pleasure.

'You can't slap me yet,' said Michaelmas, giving her a handsome smile. 'It's always _after _the kiss in musicals.' 

Minerva's mouth formed an 'O' of indignation, she reached her hands up and grasped his shoulders, to pull herself back up and give him a piece of her mind, but Michaelmas had other ideas. She had unintentionally brought herself closer to him, and he bent his head and pressed his lips against hers, softly. 

If she hadn't drunk three glasses of champagne, if it hadn't been such a long time since she had last been kissed, if it hadn't felt so romantic, she surely wouldn't have kissed him back. But she did, she tilted her head and felt her insides melting as his lips gently teased hers and she responded slowly. 

'I'll come back later.'

With a startled gasp, Minerva broke the kiss and stood upright, flushing furiously, and feeling incredibly foolish, Albus Dumbledore stood framed in the doorway, a flat emotionless expression on his face.

Sendar still had his arms around her, his hands resting caressingly on her waist, his body close behind hers, a satisfied smirk on his face. 

'Albus!' said Minerva shocked into insensibility, her thoughts whirling, and acutely conscious of her mussed hair and Sendar's hands, she pulled away from him. 

Albus Dumbledore merely nodded his head, looking very self-contained - his face displaying about as much emotion as a rock - turned with his robes swishing against the floor and left the room without another word.

Minerva swung around to face Sendar, absolutely furious, she lifted her hand and hit him as hard as she could across the face, fairly whipping his head round and wiping the smirk from his face.

'Don't you _ever _try that again! How _dare _you…' Minerva ran out of words to express her disgust and rage.

'I seem to remember that you kissed me back, Minerva,' said Michaelmas coolly, his cheek marked white where her hand had struck him.

'If you think for one moment that I would ever kiss you sober, then you need serious psychiatric help,' hissed Minerva, two high spots of colour burning in her cheeks, her head held high, and proud. 

'You didn't make much of an effort to protest,' reminded Sendar, now looking nasty.

Seething, Minerva resisted the urge to draw her wand on him, instead she pointed to the door and said steadily but icily: 'Get _Out!_' 

And he did.

~*~*~*~

Some time later, Minerva was still to be found in her classroom, sat behind her desk, her head in her hands, trying to sort out the turmoil inside her. She had kissed Michaelmas, _kissed_ Sendar, actually kissed him! But what was worse, far worse, was that Albus had walked in on them, kissing, entwined in each other's arms like a pair of lovers, kissing as tenderly as newly-weds. When Minerva remembered the stony expression on his face it was as if something was crushing slowly inside her, wringing her insides out with unaccountable guilt.

__

Why did she feel so guilty? Albus, was her friend, but her feelings went beyond embarrassment at being caught in an awkward situation, it was as if she had _betrayed_ him, and that simply made no sense! 

One thing was for sure, she felt nothing but distaste for Sendar, the man was insufferable, he had quite obviously planned the entire thing, from the alcohol to the innocent 'friends' and the kiss. Her wand hand itched just thinking about him, actually both her hands itched to strangle the bastard, nothing short of physical violence would have satisfied her if she saw him again tonight. Which is why, when someone knocked at the door she practically snarled:

'_I'm busy!_'

'I see.' Was the reply through the stout wooden door, only it wasn't Sendar's voice.

'Albus!' Minerva exclaimed. 'Come in!'

'Professor McGonagall-' protested Albus' voice, sounding hesitant, he was cut short when Minerva flung open the door to face him. 'I don't want to interrupt...'

'You're not interrupting anything,' muttered Minerva darkly, stepping away from the doorway and moving back to her desk.

'As you are now Gryffindor's Head of House,' began Albus, not moving from where he stood in the doorway, 'you will need to be introduced to those portraits and spy glasses that you can use to keep an eye on the students under your care. There are also a number of secret passages that open only to the most senior members of this school, that is myself, the deputy Headmaster and the heads of houses.'

'Albus…' said Minerva, trying to interrupt his, lecture, but he continued on.

'I will have a list of your duties written up for you and owled to you in the morning, for you to peruse at your leisure. You will also be required to attend weekly meetings with the other Head of Houses as well as the weekly general staff meetings.

'Since it is rather late in the evening, you may wish to postpone the tour of Gryffindor Tower until tomorrow, when I am sure that Professor Horner will be happy to show you around, the ghost Sir Nicholas will be able to show you now, if you should so wish.' Finally Albus paused, it seemed he had run out of things to say, Minerva was more than relieved.

'If you could show me now…?' she suggested tentatively.

'I'm sure that Sir Nicholas would be very happy to show you the ins and outs of the tower.'

'_Albus!_' objected Minerva, beginning to feel uneasy.

'Yes, _Professor _McGonagall?'

The emphasis on her title was more than enough to upset Minerva, Albus' face was implacable, he seemed entirely unperturbed and his blue eyes were closed to her, he looked at her as he might a stranger, it was disturbing and worrying. 

'I thought, when we were off duty, we called each other by our first names?'

'This is formal Hogwarts business,' said Albus, quite calmly, looking as if the question had been quite unnecessary.

'I see, Headmaster, then thank you for dropping by to tell me of these details, I will look forward to my no doubt informative tour of the tower tomorrow,' said Minerva, just as formally, trying desperately not to be angry with him for his tone.

'Good,' said Albus, and left. Just like that he was gone again, and Minerva gaped stupidly at the space where he had been before her common sense caught up with her and she ran after him.

'Albus!' she cried, racing down the corridor towards his fast dwindling figure at the end. 'Albus, just you stop there!' She caught him by his arm, breathing fast from her sprint, resolved not to let him go till he had the right of the situation. 'It wasn't what it looked like!'

'I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall?' asked Dumbledore, coolly. 

'Albus,' said Minerva wearily, bowing her head feeling almost defeated by the trials of the day. 'He caught me by surprise. Sendar. It was nothing more than a heat of the moment response. Nothing.'

'As long as your personal relationships do not affect your professional position here within Hogwarts, you are free to do as you wish.'

'Albus, will you stop quoting the rule books at me!'

'_Professor McGonagall_, if you would excuse me, it is past my bed time.' What was worse, the cold impersonal way he spoke, or his inability to call her by her first name.

'You're acting like a jealous lover!' she shouted, throwing up her hands, exasperated, and then covered her mouth in horror, she hadn't meant to say that, it had just popped out, from where, she had no idea.

Dumbledore stopped and swung around to face her, round on her even, he didn't say a word, just raised one of those expressive eyebrows and tilted his head slightly.

'Ignoring my attempts to explain, running away from me, acting so _cold_ and angry,' and he was, realised Minerva, angry, furious possibly, that was why he wore the mask, to hide how much he felt. 'Merlin, I _despise_ that man!'

'Who, me?' asked Dumbledore.

'No, Sendar. He bought over some champagne, to celebrate as friends, so he said,' Minerva sighed then glared at the memory.

'So how did you get to kissing?' asked Albus, suddenly he was interested, he was listening to her.

'I gave him back his glass, I needed to go and change my skirt. It was soaked in alcohol!' she snapped in answer to his raising eyebrows. 'He just, god it was cheesy, he said he felt like he was in a musical, swung me into his arms, told me I couldn't smack him till he had kissed me, because that's the way it always happened in the musicals. Then he kissed me.'

'That still doesn't explain why you kissed him back,' pointed out Albus, none to gently.

'Just what do you care anyway?' retorted Minerva, her hackles rising, her Animagus form was aptly chosen.

'You're my friend, I am concerned for you,' answered Albus, swiftly. 'But I see you can take care of yourself.'

'Yes I bloody well can! Or have you forgotten who stood with you in battle against Grindelwald?'

'My memory is as good as it ever was, Auror McGonagall, and I of course am ever appreciative of your help.' The air around them was getting increasingly frigid, and the lines around Albus' eyes tightening as Minerva stiffened.

'Pity Blundell didn't get the chance to hear that,' burst forth from Minerva, a bitterness she hadn't known she possessed revealed. Albus froze, his eyes flashed, with anger, sadness, grief and then pain, but there was no way Minerva would apologise, she was stubborn and her foolhardy pride bore her sturdily upright in the face of his sorrow.

'Yes, pity,' murmured Dumbledore, softly. Something in the way he said it riled Minerva and before she knew it she was responding to it, feeling the need to defend Blundell's memory, to fight for his honour.

'A pity,' she said, acid in her tone. 'What a pity, such a waste. A pity, yes, pitiable, a pitiable excuse for a human being, not really worth your time of day! Such a _pity_ he had to go and die, such a _pity_ he had to go and disappoint you so. But how _grand _you were in your clemency, your almighty mercy, granting him absolution, oh how regal! How _heroic _you were to play him so, how _cleverly _you manipulated his deplorable person!' She practical spat the last words at him, she was physically shaking from the frenzy of white hot fury that had over whelmed her, such rage as she had never known, such hatred as she had never thought to feel burned in her, stormed in her like wind whipped sea waves on shore. Paintings in the hall burst into flame and burned to charcoal, statues cracked and shattered into a thousand jagged shards as her anger manifested itself in uncontrollable magic. Minerva was a powerful witch, her abilities far surpassing that of the norm, or the average, her studies made her resourceful, her temper made her formidable.

Albus Dumbledore stood like stone amongst the chaos, but as she came to a final hissing halt he swayed, just a little, like a thistle rooted well but standing tall. Minerva McGonagall was too far gone, swept by her emotions into a tirade of hatred against a man she had been proud to call a friend, beyond recalling back to rational thought or deed, for too long had she buried these thoughts, too long.

'Is that what you truly think of me?' asked Dumbledore, finally, his voice sounding faint against the background of destruction in the hallway.

'Isn't that who you truly are,' replied Minerva, her magical temper reigned back under control, the storm of power ceasing.

'No, and I hoped, that you, would have learned that by now, would have known… I never meant… I did not, not on purpose, not by design,' stuttered Dumbledore, hands fisting convulsively.

'No, your 'design' went a bit wrong, your scheming little plans and sticky webs fell apart, and Blundell paid the price!' cried Minerva, grabbing the front of his robes.

'I never wanted…'

'Didn't you? It would have been a little awkward had he lived!'

'Believe me, it was not my intention to, to-'

'_Get him killed_?' Minerva shook him, her strength surprising her.

'I was not the one who cast the curses on him!' snapped Dumbledore, eyes flying sparks, regaining a little of his old confident self, his hands gripped her shoulders, stilled her.

'**You as good as killed him**!' shouted Minerva.

'_I did NOT!' _roared Dumbledore, and flung her away with force. She hit the wall and immediately spun around with her wand out, heedless of the blood now trickling warm down her chilled face, but Albus Dumbledore was turned away from her, facing the wall opposite.

'I did not,' he was whispering. 'I swear I did not. Oh god, I didn't, I didn't! I didn't!'

Minerva stared at him, the most powerful man in the world, standing with his shoulders bowed, defeated, a hand stretched out for the wall like a blind man reaching for the light, shaking like a tremulous, weak geriatric.

She put her wand away, and moved to him, softly, her anger drained from her, leaving only the sour taste of it's memory.

'Albus,' she murmured, scared at what she saw before her, a broken man.

'I didn't,' he whispered hoarsely, not looking at her, not seeming to know she was there, by his side. 'I didn't.'

'I know,' she said, and cautiously reached for his arm. 'You didn't kill him, Grindelwald did. You made a mistake, Albus, why can't you admit that you made a mistake!' It was almost a wail, as tears threatened to wet her eyes and pour down her pale cheeks, he felt her touch upon his robed arm and faced her, his eyes were hollow shadows, waterless wells.

'I didn't. Did I?' he asked, as timidly as a child.

'You didn't,' she said, fighting for composure.

'But I did, didn't I Minerva. I killed him,' the light of insanity was in his eyes, Minerva felt control slipping away from her, on the brink of panic. 

'A mistake,' she whispered. 'Yes, in a way you are responsible, but in the end. _In the end_ Albus, you did not kill him!'

'Minerva, Minerva, I _am _responsible, if I hadn't… if I hadn't… he'd still be alive. My fault, it's all my fault!' He slammed his fist into the wall, Minerva was more than startled to see the resulting cavity in the stone as pieces crumbled to the floor. 

'Stop it Albus! Stop it right now! Listen to what I'm saying! Listen!' Minerva took him by the shoulders and turned to him to face her. 

'You're scaring me, Albus,' she whispered, more to herself than him, but it seemed that he heard, for his eyes lost that glazed quality and focused on her.

'I'm sorry, Minerva, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I killed him.'

'You didn't kill him, Albus. That son of a bitch Grindelwald did,' Minerva ground out between clenched teeth, even thinking of the deceased dark lord made her livid.

For the first time she noticed that tears were trickling slowly down Albus' face, glistening paths of sorrow, and felt too, her own damp cheeks as silent tears marked her deep grief. They stood, Minerva gripping his shoulders, providing support, both mentally and physically, in the middle of a deserted hallway, thankfully far from any of the House towers and staff quarters.

'Did I do this?' asked Albus suddenly, reaching a hand up to hover just above her forehead, where a small cut bled.

'It doesn't matter,' began Minerva, diffidently, reaching for her hanky.

'It does,' replied Albus, and he laid his long thin fingers gently upon the wound, the telltale silver white glow of his wandless magic suffused her with a feeling of well-being and happiness as he skilfully healed the wound.

'I apologise,' said Albus, his fingers resting at her temple.

'If we're getting into that, then, well, I apologise too. I said some cruel and unnecessary things to you, and I'm sorry,' she was not afraid to meet his gaze, she had been wrong. 'I thought you were cold and heartless, you were so detached. It seemed callous, the way you disregarded his death as a 'casualty of war', the way you never spoke of him again, nor of what happened in there. The way you asked me not to either, not that I was overly keen to do so anyway,' Minerva gave a weak smile. 'It never occurred to me that you might be suffering too.'

'Ah, but some of the things you said _were_ true. When he confessed to me, I told him he could redeem himself, gain absolution, if he, if he... I made a terrible mistake, Minerva, one that cost a man, a colleague, and our friend his life. I can never be forgiven.' Albus Dumbledore shook his head his face twisted in loathing.

'Albus, thousands of lives are saved because Blundell had the courage to do what he did, because of what you told him to do. _One sacrificed to save the many_. It sounds so harsh, and I hate to even say it, but it's true Albus. You killed the evilest, foulest creature the wizarding world has ever known and in doing so, ensured that children all over the world would sleep safe in their beds at night, that parents would no longer dread that black Ministry owl flying to their homes. That sweethearts would no longer have to lie awake at night frantic with worry for their lovers, that children wouldn't become orphans, muggles wouldn't be tortured into madness, people wouldn't have to live in fear, wouldn't have to see every stranger as a potential threat, look over their shoulders at every turn… 

'Albus, you saved the world, you killed the Dark Lord and freed us from oppression, to do so you did things that you aren't proud of, and I hope that you never will be, but for one terrible death a thousand more were saved.'

'I don't want to live by that philosophy,' said Albus, solemn. 'One sacrificed to save the many.'

'You don't have to. We're no longer at war Albus, that's why the Auror battle groups have been disbanded. That's why I'm teaching.' Slightly wryly spoken. 

He actually gave a small laugh at this. 'I didn't do all that Minerva, you, Blendell and I did it, together.'

'Well, technically, in that case, so did thousands of other men and women,' said Minerva pragmatically.

'More so yourself and the two of us,' said Albus, his fingers still resting on her temple, where her pulse throbbed.

'I don't want to encourage your ego to grow any more, but I will have to insist on this point. Albus, you killed the Dark Lord.'

'With your help.'

'Albus! I was lying on the floor bleeding half to death and trying to hold Blendell's insides, in.'

They fell silent, Minerva did not normally like to remember the gory side of that long day, the longest day of her life, the day she failed to save a friend's life. She had been covered in his blood, spouting from him, slippery, so slick, her skin had turned red and her hair had later dried to crust. She'd had to scrub so hard, after they let her out from the First Aid tent. The blood hadn't wanted to come off, it had been all over her, everywhere, a second skin of death. She'd scrubbed so hard, trying to rub away the memory, everything had fallen out of him, so messy, so impossible to stop him just falling apart, falling to bits…

'It wasn't your fault, either,' said Albus, quietly but firmly, his hand taking her chin securely, jerking her from her morbid thoughts.

'I should have been able to save him,' said Minerva, trying to keep the croak from her voice.

'There was nothing you could have done. The dark magic was eating him up.'

'The severing curse opened him up, you know, his stomach, it, it, fell out, intestines and bits and there was so much blood, Albus.. So much blood,' Minerva McGonagall swallowed hard, but tremors were wracking her body. Without a word, Albus Dumbledore took her in his arms, wrapping them around her waist as she held him tightly back, both squeezing the other, clinging hungrily to warmth and comfort.

'I don't know what I would do without you, Minerva,' murmured Albus, by her ear, as she rested her head upon his broad shoulder and hugged him back.

'Get along fine,' she replied dryly, but she smiled contentedly into his robes.

'Not as fine as I will now,' said Albus. 'You will be staying around?'

'Oh yes, not getting rid of the evidence that easily, Albus. Besides, I'll have to keep an eye on you and make sure you're not becoming too self-pitying in that melodramatic way of yours.'

'_Melodramatic?_' said Albus incredulously. 

'Yes, such a pity really, that flaw in your character. I suppose we can work around it,' sighed Minerva, moving away from him so she could look critically upon his visage. 'And that nose of yours of course.'

'Are you, by any chance, teasing me, Minerva?' 

'Would I ever do such a thing?' 

'My nose isn't that bad, is it?' Albus cautiously touched the offending appendage, making Minerva laugh.

'I rather like it,' she said, and brushed her fingers down it's crooked length (it had been broken once).

Albus Dumbledore caught her fingers as they fell, and kissed them, sweetly.

'I can never thank you enough Minerva, for what you have done for me tonight, what a weight you have taken off my soul.'

Minerva simply smiled, a little shyly, his actions had triggered an unheard of experience on her, she shivered as the bus that had hit her stomach at high speed disappeared again, leaving a yearning need in it's wake.

'It was a mutual thing, Albus. I needed to hear that too. Thank you.'

~*~*~*~

Minerva McGonagall poured herself another glass of wine (for energy) and downed it, not quite two hours ago she had left her promotion celebration in the staff room, where she had drunk far too much wine, so that a little more seemed harmless, and had come back to her rooms only to decide that now would be a brilliant time to start clearing out her belongings. 

It was very early in the morning and she was very hot, despite wearing only her skirt and shirt with sleeves and bodice rolled up to try and keep cool as she set about her task. 

Pushing a strand of sweaty hair back behind her ears, and readjusting her glasses for what felt like the fortieth time, Minerva cast W_ingardium Leviosa, _and just remembered that she already had two boxes floating. With a high twisting jump that would have done any gymnastic proud, she snatched the fragile box from it's descent before it's contents could smash onto the floor, the second floating box she had forgotten about, bounced harmlessly, she had remembered to cast the 'sponge' (as it was nicknamed) charm on it. 

'Now I remember why your animagus form is a cat,' said a voice from her bedroom doorway, sounding delighted. 'What an amazing piece of agility!'

'Flatterer,' smiled Minerva, as she greeted Albus Dumbledore into the chaos of her rooms. 'What are you still doing up?'

'I thought to call on you before retiring,' said Albus.

'I might have been asleep.'

'In which case I would have gone on to my bed. What are you doing?'

'Packing ready for moving.'

'Isn't it a little late?' asked Albus delicately.

'I'm wide awake, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Wine?'

'Why not? I've already drunk far too much, of course, and will no doubt suffer for it in the morning.'

'It is the morning,' said Minerva.

'So it is!' 

'How did you get in?' suddenly wondered Minerva, remembering it was late at night, she handed him a long fluted glass of wine.

'You left your doors wide open. Thank you.' 

'Oh, damn.'

'They're closed now. So, can I be of assistance?' the tall attractive wizard was amused at the state of things, his twitching lips did not escape Minerva's notice.

Minerva looked around at her room, she would be moving into her new rooms tomorrow, as Head of Gryffindor, hence the theory behind the current activity in here. Boxes and piles of her belongings were placed haphazardly around the room, in no particular order, the funny thing was, she seemed to have acquired more things than she had started off with.

'Well, there's a box, fill it. Please,' she said, and then turned to continue packing books from her six high bookshelves.

'Ah, where would you care to have me start?' asked Dumbledore, as he looked around the bombsite.

'Anywhere!' was the off hand, slightly tipsy reply.

'You mean you have nothing to hide?' asked Dumbledore, curiously. Minerva swivelled from where she knelt, seven books rather cleverly suspended in mid air.

'I already disposed of my PlayGirl magazines, my secret correspondence with a dark wizard, the bloody knife and my collection of muggle heads,' said Minerva, who was possibly being a little sarcastic.

'Well, nothing out of the ordinary except… PlayGirl?'

'As in PlayBoy, but for women.'

'What's PlayBoy?'

'Ask Sendar,' was her brief smirking reply, and she turned back to her work.

Albus Dumbledore looked around and then carefully picked his way across to a chest of drawers, three of which were pulled open and obviously empty but the top one was closed, summoning a box he rolled up his sleeves, opened the drawer and pulled out… a lacy black bra.

It wasn't quite what Albus had been expecting, in fact it was a complete surprise, he'd been expecting knickknacks, like broken magical devices or lecturing notes, some hair clips, an old photo. 

Never mind the fact that he found himself wondering whether all her underwear was as… provocative, a quick glimpse into her drawer showed that it mostly, was. For some reason his mouth was dry and his tongue felt like sandpaper, he coughed.

'What?' asked Minerva, vaguely, she was carefully flicking through the pages of a leather bound book, and didn't turn to look.

'For some reason, I always thought of you as a more sporty type, or plain cotton white,' said Albus, rearranging his uncooperative face into a grin as near to teasing as he could get.

'Excuse me?' said Minerva, sounding bewildered, she twisted her head around, and then fell over when she saw what he held in his hand. '_Albus_!'

'Who are you trying to seduce then?' he asked, cheekily.

'Nobody! I happen to like… nice underwear,' Minerva stood up, her cheeks flaming. 'Now, do you _mind_?'

'No,' said Albus, honestly. 'I happen to think they're very,' he paused, stumbling a little over a word, 'attractive.'

There was an awkward pause.

'I hardly think you're an expert on women's underwear, Albus,' said Minerva, recovering some of her composure. _He's a friend, a friend a friend, just teasing, joking…_

'How would you know, my dear Minerva?' he cast her a wicked grin, before folding her bra and replacing it in the drawer.

'I don't _want_ to know, Albus, the idea…'

'Perhaps I can do the books, and you can do your… this,' however in control of himself Albus had appeared to be, he gave himself away with this little slip, Minerva pounced.

'Can't handle a little bit of lace, Albus? Never knew you were such a prude. Still, I suppose you were bought up in a very prim and proper society,' she said airily, enjoying his caught out expression.

'I am most certainly not a prude and … Do you _want _me to pack your underwear, Minerva?' Albus might have been discomfited but he was still on top of his wits, Minerva gaped like a goldfish, she most certainly did not want him packing her knickers and bras.

'I don't think we're that friendly, Albus,' she muttered, glaring at him.

'Do you wear this …all the time?' asked Albus, the question burning his tongue as he let it out. Alcohol always seemed to lower inhibitions, tomorrow day he would regret his fool self.

'That's none of your business!'

'No,' agreed Albus, candidly.

'Yes,' said Minerva, just as candidly. 'But that doesn't mean I'm some sort of hussy!'

'No,' said Albus, nodding.

'Why?' asked Minerva, as Albus asked, 'Sendar?'

'Just nosy,' said Albus, as Minerva said, '_Never_!' vehemently.

'I can't believe we're having this conversation,' moaned Minerva, putting her head in her hands.

'Nor I,' said Albus, disturbed, he looked at her despondent figure and wondered idly if she was wearing a lacy anything now. 'Shush!' he said aloud.

'I'm sorry?' asked Minerva, lifting her head, confused.

'Not you, me.'

'You didn't say anything.'

'I thought something,' said Albus, sitting down beside her, and drinking the rest of her glass of wine, his was empty.

'What?'

'What what?' asked Albus, forgetting already what had been said a moment ago, she smelt of blossoms… summer flowers.

'What was your thought?'

'It doesn't matter,' Albus waved it away.

'Oh but it does,' said Minerva, 'because I shall die of curiosity unless you tell me.'

'Tough, die away,' said Albus, unmercifully.

'Albus!' gasped Minerva, grasping her breast as if mortally wounded. 'I thought you cared!'

'I do,' chuckled Albus, trying not to get distracted by her actions, and gulping some more wine, straight from the bottle.

'So tell me,' ordered Minerva, taking the bottle from him, and sipping as lady like as one can from a bottle when one is already slightly inebriated.

'No,' he flatly denied.

'Yes,' insisted Minerva.

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No, we don't sound like responsible, mature adults,' pointed out Albus.

'You never were,' said Minerva reasonably. 'You still have to tell me.'

'No.'

'Yes!'

'No.'

'Yes. We're doing it again.'

'I know. No.'

'Yes,' said Minerva, implacably.

'Gah!' cried Albus to the heavens.

'Is that a yes?'

'No.'

'I'll tickle you,' threatened Minerva.

'You wouldn't dare!' said Albus, shocked.

'Just you watch me…' she reached forth and tickled his sides, he squirmed away from her. 'You really _are_ ticklish,' crowed Minerva.

'Actually, I think I might really be insane,' said Albus.

'No, just drunk,' said Minerva in a scholarly manner, looking down her nose at him.

'Oh, and you aren't?'

'I don't want to be,' frowned Minerva, remembering what had happened last time she drank freely, she sat up and then scrabbled around for her wand. 'Soberietus!' she commanded, her wand pointed waveringly at herself.

It was like being hit with a trough of ice cold water, she gasped like she was a fish out of water, before turning and doing the same to Albus, who feared his beard had turned white from the severity of the charm.

They sat in silence for a moment, both blinking almost blindly in the after shock.

'That should be a curse,' said Minerva. 'Not a charm.'

'Yes,' agreed Albus. 'I'll see what I can do about it.'

'Are you going to tell me?' she asked, seemingly randomly.

Albus Dumbledore twirled his beard between his long fingers, eyes intent upon the somewhat diminished amount of wine in the bottle.

'Best not,' he said, calmly.

'Not even to put me off Sendar?' asked Minerva, also watching the bottle like it was an epic adventure film. Albus looked sharply at her, but she did not turn her head, there was no doubt that she was stone cold sober now, so he did not understand the remark, could not, he gave a forced laugh, and knew she could tell.

'Oh I was thinking about ravishing you where you sat,' he said, in as light a tone of voice as he could manage.

'I don't believe I've ever been ravished,' said Minerva, still watching the bottle steadfastly.

'You're very ravishable,' said Albus, slowly.

'What stopped you?' she asked, and just like that everything froze, time stopped and heartbeats resounded loud in their ears, breath had to be forced past stiff lips as a different sort of magic glowed.

'Do you mean what stopped me then, or what is stopping me now?' asked Albus, tentatively.

'Do you want to… ravish me now?' said Minerva, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Albus Dumbledore swallowed hard, 'Yes.'

'- But?'

'Do _you _want me to?' he asked, boldly.

'More than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life,' said Minerva, her voice cracking, her body tense, awaiting his touch.

'Are you sure?' asked Albus, his voice hoarse as his hands stroked her cheek then cradled her face.

'Kiss me…' urged Minerva, and he leant forward, she tilted her head and felt her toes curl as his lips brushed against hers and she…

Woke up. She woke up. Minerva McGonagall sat up rigidly in her four poster bed the sheets wrenched almost off, breathing heavily, and her nightie twisted, evidently she had had a restless night. The dream… oh Merlin the dream, Albus had been about to kiss her, and she had _asked_ him to! 

Thank Merlin it was just a dream, it was all nonsense, she'd been in her new rooms for several weeks now, and the house elves had moved her possessions, Albus hadn't been anywhere near her underwear. Besides it was perfectly normal to have dreams involving people you knew, especially in your working life, perfectly normal, she just wished her heart rate would slow down. It was absolutely absurd! Mind you, she had had that rather raunchy one a few nights ago about Hawthorne, the darkly handsome head of Hufflepuff, and Gill had admitted to an intimate dream about Marcus O'Reiuss, with the promise that if he heard of it Minerva's life would be forfeit.

The difference was that while Minerva could admit to dreaming of Sendar as a doomed jelly baby (she had bitten off his head), and to Gill, of David Hawthorne paying particular attention to particular details… This one would most assuredly remain private, very, very private.

It had seemed so real!

Damn it, she had to stop thinking on it, Albus and her had a completely platonic relationship. Completely.

~*~*~*~

Later that same day, Minerva was on her way to lunch in the Great Hall when she came across a tall blonde boy bullying a second year Ravenclaw girl, who was crying. Minerva could clearly hear the boy threatening to punch her if she didn't give him her pocket money, it made her blood boil.

The tall boy was a Slytherin Minerva and the other professors had come across before, he was a renowned bully and the girl, Lou 'loo' Lufkin was an insecure but clever girl who would hopefully grow out of her apparent fragility (she was skinny, wore big glasses and her hair was hopelessly frizzy). The sixth year boy's name was Goderick Gully, his Hufflepuff parents (the father killed in action in the War) perhaps hoping he would end up in Gryffindor, the boy had rather ironically ended up in Slytherin's House, where his name had been tactfully shortened to Rick by his House friends and Der by the ever inspirational Gryffindors.

'What is the meaning of this, Mr Gully?' Minerva demanded, sweeping down on the scene like a wrathful bat.

'The meaning of what?' said the boy, smirking at her, he was as tall as she and clearly thought himself her equal.

'Bullying is not tolerated in this school,' and nor is facetiousness, she thought.

'I wasn't bullying, I was just comforting Miss Lufkin. There, there,' he gave a thoroughly unconvincing portrait of a concerned older student, patting the flinching girl on her back. 

'Much as I would like to believe you Mr Gully, I heard the entire conversation. Give Miss Lufkin back her pocket money, now,' ordered Minerva, green eyes flinty. Mr Gully looked mulish and angry at being caught out.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' he objected foolishly.

'_Accio_ money!' commanded Minerva, and the pathetic couple of bronze knuts flew into her outstretched hand. Mr Gully glared at her, as she handed them back to a grateful Lou. 'Go on into lunch Miss Lufkin.'

'She gave them to me,' said Goderick suddenly, already trying to weasel his way out of punishment, but Minerva had had enough of letting him get away with bullying the younger students.

'Don't waste my time, Mr Gully,' she said sharply.

'Then don't waste mine,' he said, arrogantly. 'What are you gonna do, take points off my house, oh boo hoo, how will I survive. You're only a few years older than me, you can't punish me! You shouldn't even be a teacher!'

'That is quite enough,' she said icily. 'I am more than a decade older than you Mr Gully, and I am your professor of Transfiguration. For your lack of proper respect and your bullying, fifty points will be taken from Slytherin and you will serve detention.'

'Fifty!' said 'Rick' Gully. 'You can't do that!'

'I can, and I just did. An owl will be sent to you giving details of your detention. Go to lunch, Mr Gully, and don't let me see you anywhere near Miss Lufkin.'

'You can't-'

'Ten points from Slytherin for disobeying a teacher, Mr Gully, shall we make it twenty?' she looked at him, stern and unyielding, in the face of such resistance, Mr Gully sullenly did as he was told.

Sitting down in her own seat at the staff table, Minerva wondered what detention to make him serve, it had to be something fitting, something to take the cock sure brat down a few pegs. Fifty points from Slytherin, she'd never taken that many points in one go, she reached for the potatoes and cabbage and someone handed her the gravy.

'Thank you,' she said absently, as she added a slice of chicken and mushroom pie to her golden plate.

'Knut for your thoughts?'

'I'm not sure they're worth that much,' said Minerva, smiling at the flying instructor, George Hall.

'How go the duties?' George asked, he had also applied for the Head of House position.

'Lots of paper work. I'm forever busy it seems, but it's rewarding work.'

'Well, I'm glad I didn't get it,' he said, munching on an apple, he was so healthy he sometimes made everyone else sick.

'Really?' asked Minerva, genuinely curious, he had displayed no bitterness over her promotion, ahead of his.

'Between the two of us?' he asked, bending his head toward her.

'Okay,' she leant forward to listen.

'I've been offered a place as Chaser on the Montrose Magpies,' he grinned at her, visibly excited.

'Wow! George that's amazing!' congratulated Minerva, 'When will you be leaving us?'

'Easter I'm afraid. I have yet to tell Dumbledore, he's not going to be pleased, he'll have to find another flying instructor for the rest of that term,' George grimaced, obviously expecting an awkward interview ahead.

'I'm sure if you give him a couple of free tickets to see the Montrose Magpies fly, he'll be much more amenable to the idea,' said Minerva, rather deviously for her.

'You're a genius Minerva!' said George, enthusiastically, well aware that Dumbledore had a weak spot for treats of any kind. 

'Why thank you,' she said modestly, and tucked into her meal whilst discussing 

Montrose tactics with George.

~*~*~*~

The next day, Saturday, found her outside the castle with a very disgruntled Goderick Gully, who was missing the Hogsmeade visit to serve detention with Professor McGonagall. Her discussion yesterday with George Hall, had led to a surprising discovery and also solved the problem of what to do for detention with Mr Gully. Luckily the weather, though cold (it was early December) was clear and fine, with no rain clouds but quite a brisk breeze. Minerva had ordered the sulking sixth year boy to carry a bucket of soapy water and some cloths out to the front of the huge castle, and she had confiscated his wand, telling him he was going to have to use some elbow grease.

'For your detention, Mr Gully, you will be cleaning windows,' she explained, clearly.

'Yes, Professor,' muttered Mr Gully, lips curled into a dissatisfied scowl.

'Those windows,' she elaborated, pointing. Mr Gully looked up, and then up and then up.

'I can't get up there!' he protested. 'Professor,' he quickly added.

'Oh yes,' said Minerva, 'I almost forgot.' With an elaborate wave of her wand a rope ladder unfurled up the tower wall. 'There are, I believe, somewhere in the region of fifty windows to clean Mr Gully, so you had better get a move on.'

'But - but, how am I supposed to hold onto the ladder, the bucket and the cloths whilst cleaning the window?' said a slightly wide eyed Goderick.

'The bucket will balance on the window sill, Mr Gully,' said Minerva, unfeelingly.

'But the ladder… it's wobbling!' 

'Ah, that would be the wind, it's quite strong today. Still, I'm sure you won't fall off if you're careful,' said Minerva casually, appearing supremely unconcerned.

'But what if I do fall off?' panicked Mr Gully, knees visibly shaking.

'I'll be keeping an eye on you, Mr Gully,' said Minerva, briskly. 'Now, up you go, and mind you don't spill the water, or you'll have to get some more.'

Which would mean he would have to descend the ladder and then climb back up it's unsecured length to the windows of the turrets high above, hesitantly Mr Gully made his way over to the ladder and began his slow ascent.

Minerva waited till he had climbed all the way to his first window, stopping several times when the wind had made the long, flexible ladder sway and threatened to spill the water in his bucket. Making sure he wasn't looking she spent some moments weaving a fairly complex spell to ensure Mr Gully's safety if he should fall off the ladder and then cast sonorous on herself, in order to speak to him.

'Get to work Mr Gully! I expect those windows to be sparkling by the time I come back!' and with that, she left him to it.

It was an excessively cruel thing to do perhaps, but Minerva thought that the impression it might make upon the bullying Mr Gully might be more important than the terror his fear of heights would cause him for the rest of today. George had told her that Goderick Gully was absolutely petrified of heights, and refused to get on a broomstick after his first experience on one had left him gibbering.

At about mid-afternoon, Minerva thought to check on Mr Gully, and see if he was coping okay, when she looked up she could see him cleaning his eighteenth window, with an arm and a leg wrapped securely around the weaving ladder, and his other leg pressed against the stone work as his spare arm worked as fast as he dared cleaning. He was quite plainly scared stiff, sweat was pouring down his face as he fought to maintain his balance and not look down. 

Transfiguring a rock into a comfortable chair and summoning a book, Minerva ate an orange and sat where he could see her from the corner of his eye, relaxed yet watching, as he redoubled his efforts, no doubt in a bid to be let down.

She ignored it and calmly immersed herself in her historical novel, the windows were typical of Hogwarts, old and huge, shaped tall and thin or tall and wide, and it took some time to clean just one. By the time he had managed, almost painfully to clean six more it was half past four and darkening, Minerva stood up, banished her book and transfigured the chair back into it's original form, and cast _sonorous_.

'Time to come down, Mr Gully. It's getting too dark to continue.' And eagerly, though cautiously the boy made his relieved way down. 'Go to dinner and get something to eat, Mr Gully,' she ordered, feeling a little guilty at the state of the boy, who was clearly fatigued and hungry. 'Next time you feel like bullying, remember how it felt, up there,' she nodded up to the windows he had cleaned and the boy swallowed, looking a little green.

'Yes, Professor,' he said quietly, and disappeared inside the building, walking on unsteady legs.

Minerva retrieved the ladder and the bucket and wondered, had she done the right thing, the right way?

~*~*~*~

The next morning, just after breakfast, Minerva was sitting at her desk awaiting her first class of the day, fourth year Hufflepuffs, when a knock at her door interrupted her idle introspective.

'Come in,' she said, her teacher's voice nearly perfected, distant and stern. Mr Gully entered, looking uncomfortable. 'Yes, Mr Gully?'

'I only cleaned twenty four windows yesterday, Professor. I was wondering when you wanted me to serve the rest of my detention.'

To say Minerva was surprised was an understatement, she looked closely at him to see if he was mocking her, but his tone was sincere and his body language awkward but not ill at ease. 

'Do you feel that you need to serve the rest of the detention, Mr Gully?' asked Minerva, after all, the boy was in his sixth year at Hogwarts and could be expected to have a certain level of maturity.

'I'm sorry, Professor?' he asked, looking up from his shoes.

'Have you learned your lesson, Mr Gully?' she inquired patiently.

'Yes,' he said, very quietly, looking incredibly thankful at the thought of not having to climb 200 foot again.

'Were you very scared, up there, Mr Gully?' asked Minerva straightforwardly.

'Yes, Professor,' he said, frankly.

'Then don't ever make anyone else feel that way,' she said pointedly, and the boy nodded fervently in agreement, it seemed the point had been driven home very well, she have to thank the caretaker for his loan of the ladder.

'Oh, and a point to Slytherin,' she said, as the boy turned to leave. 'For honesty, and coming forward.' She didn't smile but she nodded her head at the astounded lad, before turning to pretend to read some of the documents lying on her desk, she heard the door close behind him.

~*~*~*~

It was the last staff meeting for the Heads of the four houses before the Christmas Holidays began, so despite the formal setting (they were seated around an oval desk scattered with quills and parchment), Albus had provided eggnog and mince pies for refreshment and the room was decorated with holly, fairies and a Christmas Tree complete with fake snow.

'Very festive,' said Elise Horner, dryly, one could never tell with her, whether she approved or not.

'Yum, Mince pies!' said Minerva to Professor Hawthorne, who cast her a rare twitch of his lips which for him was a beaming smile.

'Bloody fairies,' swore Sendar, pulling one from his fashionably long hair.

'It must be your perfume,' said Hawthorne, receiving a glare from the DADA professor for his sardonic explanation as everyone else discreetly chuckled.

'Good Evening everybody!' welcomed the Headmaster appearing from the opposite door wearing a garish cloak covered in romanticised versions of reindeer.

'Good evening Headmaster,' replied Elise Horner, looking askance at his cloak.

'Do you like it?' the headmaster asked eagerly.

'No, I'm afraid it's not my sort of thing,' replied Elise, as tactfully as she could manage.

'It's very bright Headmaster,' said Minerva, regarding the miniature Christmas trees embroidered along the edge.

'You think?' muttered Sendar, his lips curled distastefully. 

They sat, the Headmaster at the head of the table, and the professors two to each side, Minerva beside David Hawthorne, as Sendar and Hawthorne together produced more sparks than Minerva and Sendar.

'I have sadly received notice from Professor Hall, who will be leaving us in Easter, to take up a position on the Montrose Magpies quidditch team. An excellent career move for him, but one that leaves us short of a flying instructor, before the end of term,' said Albus, beginning with the news as was his wont. A charmed quill scribbled the minutes as he spoke.

'I will let it be known we are looking and place an ad in the 'Daily Employment'. Professor Hickory has also informed me that he will be retiring at the end of the year to go back to his family home to die. As well as our Charms professor, who wishes to spend some more time with his family in China and do some detailed research into his chosen area of study.'

'Sorry, what was that about Professor Hickory?' asked Hawthorne, bushy eyebrows raised in disbelief.

'He will be leaving us in July, to return to his ancestral home in Cornwall for his death,' informed Albus, as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. 'We are all invited to the funeral.'

'How pleasant,' murmured Elise, brow furrowed.

'He assures me he is looking forward to leaving the school and having some months of peace and quiet before, 'moving on',' said Albus looking a little bit more sympathetic.

'He said that?' asked Hawthorne, sceptically.

'Well, to be more accurate he said: "Bugger me if I want to die in this god forsaken hell hole, I'm leaving to go to that mangy rotting shack of mine in Cornwall. I won't miss the bloody students, but if you'll bury my body and see to the animals, I'll leave you my ear horn and a stick of rock". I thought it was uncommonly generous of him,' said Albus, with not a twitch to betray anything other than utter seriousness. Minerva was suffocating from the effort it involved not to burst out laughing, not that she was amused at his imminent death, just his same old craggy style.

'So we will need a new Charms teacher and a new Care of Magical Creatures teacher for next September and a flying teacher for this Easter,' said Sendar, making notes.

'I already have a new Care of Magical Creatures professor lined up,' said Albus. 'Though I have yet to approach him.'

'We'll have to start looking for that and Charms before next Easter, we left it a bit late last year,' said Sendar coolly, referring to Minerva, whose appointment had come at the latter end of August.

'Indeed,' said Albus evenly. 'I believe that is all the news, there seems to be something about Christmas that makes people want to move on. We lose more teachers at Christmas that any other time of the year.'

'Shall we move on ourselves then?' suggested Sendar, clearly impatient.

'Indeed,' said Albus again, quite serenely, though Elise Horner frowned at the younger man.

The business of the meeting was conducted as usual till Sendar made a complaint against Minerva, saying her behaviour was inappropriate and typical of a prejudiced Gryffindor girl.

'That's absolute bollocks, Sendar,' snarled David Hawthorne.

'What are you- her guard dog?' angrily retorted Sendar.

'Everyone knows that you're just pissed because she blew you off,' said David, scornfully.

'That's enough, gentlemen,' said Albus firmly, as Minerva gripped her quill so hard it snapped with a quiet crack. 'Do you have something to back up this complaint, Professor Sendar?'

'Yes! She gave Goderick Gully a detention for _helping _another student! She has a grudge against Slytherins!'

'No, just against you,' muttered David, under his breath.

'I gave Mr Gully a detention for bullying Miss Lufkin and for disrespect,' said Minerva, calmly defending herself.

'That might be,' said Sendar, his hands were curled into fists on the table top, 'but you set him a dangerous detention, for five hours, without food or rest!'

'Dangerous?' asked Professor Dumbledore.

'She set him to cleaning the castle windows, two hundred feet up!'

'That sounds appropriate,' said Elise Horner. 'In fact I saw him at it, indeed, I also saw Professor McGonagall cast a complicated safety net charm, he was never in any danger. It seems a fitting punishment for a student whom we know to be a chronic bully. I have no doubt in saying that since this incidence I have noted a remarkable improvement in Mr Gully's behaviour and attitude.'

Sendar gaped, looking hopelessly out of his depth.

'I believe that clears that matter up then,' said Professor Dumbledore, as Sendar glowered and Hawthorne smirked, Minerva just sighed and wished Sendar would get over his ridiculous grudge against her.

'I think that's all then, ladies and gentlemen, let's hope for a relaxing and enjoyable Christmas!' beamed Dumbledore, getting up to signal the end of the meeting, they broke up quickly after that, most eager to be about their own Christmas preparations, but Minerva stayed behind at Albus' quiet request, she thought she might be about to be reprimanded for her actions with Mr Gully, or Sendar.

'That was an eventful meeting,' said Albus, when they were alone.

'Are you going to tell me off, Albus?'

'Do I need to?'

'No. Are you doubting my ability?'

'Never, my dear, never,' assured Albus. 'I was just wondering, was Hawthorne… correct?'

'Pardon?'

'That you … blew Michaelmas off.'

'I'm not sure about the terminology but yes, I did give Sendar the elbow, not that I ever gave him my arm. Why?'

'No reason,' chuckled Albus, looking decidedly cheerful. 'Any plans for Christmas morning?'

'Open my presents, breakfast, check on my remaining students,' replied Minerva factually. 'I don't want to make a habit of asking 'why?', Albus, but, why?'

'Well, I do think Christmas is a time of love and companionship,' said Albus, puzzling Minerva, who couldn't see the relevance of the comment, slightly annoyed she raised an eyebrow and waited for him to get to the point.

'Yes?' she prompted. 'I know there's something you want to say, Albus, would you get on with it, I've piles of work to finish!'

'Would you care to spend Christmas morning avec moi?' asked Albus, rolling up the minutes and tucking them into his robes.

Minerva stared at him, a little startled at his request, a warm feeling was unfolding from somewhere in the region of her tummy and suffusing her body with a tingling happiness.

'I always think opening presents alone is a crime,' said Albus. 'It's not an order mind, if you'd prefer to -'

'I'd love to,' Minerva interrupted him, beaming. 'I really would.'

'Good,' said Albus, giving her a wide smile. 'Care for a game of chess?'

More Author's Notes… I suddenly realised that I didn't have a charms teacher written in yet, so I took the easy option and got rid of her. The power of a keyboard! 

__

Arallion and _Sirabella; _I will, of course, try to improve upon my 'bobbles' (love the word), but proof reading something this length is quite hard, I can't maintain the concentration, (gripe gripe) I'm going to have to find some one to check it for me, until then, I ask you to bear with me! Thank you for your useful criticism!

__

Minni suggested that I should make my chapters shorter so that more people might find the time to read them. It would mean quicker updates also, but what do the rest of you think?

Everybody else was amazingly enthusiastic and you all really inspired me to continue, so with thanks to my thoughtful reviewers:

****

RedWoman06, Angeldes1313, mana, MK, Sirabella, Sanguine Quill, CEA, Iara, Sweetangel251, Child-of-the-Dawn, LinZe, Arallion, willows, Laura, Dicere, Skylanthus, minni and finally but not least, **Athenia McGonagall**.


	3. Chapter Three

Dedicated to my brand new and absolutely brilliant, wonderful, and amazing beta _Dicere_!

Chapter Three 

It was with some relief that Minerva waved goodbye to the last carriage full of Hogwarts students on their way home for Christmas.  This year she had six students staying behind, four of them fifth years (all best friends) and two twins in their second year whose parents were diplomats for the British Government and were spending this Christmas in India. 

Minerva felt exhausted.  She had spent the entire morning herding her Gryffindors, chivvying, scolding and generally running around after them like a mother hen whose chicks were off to the yard for the first time.  She had collected somewhere in the region of four hundred Christmas cards that were pinned up around her class room so that there was no room for decorations, except for the odd bit of holly or mistletoe.  She had confiscated about fifty water balloons, what felt like three hundred 'Stinkers', twenty bags of flour, and a couple of Nifflers which people had been trying to set amongst the presents.   She was ready to drop where she stood, collapse onto the hard stone floor like it was the fluffiest, softest bed ever created and sleep for - oh, about a century ought to do it.

'Sherbet lemon?' came a voice from just behind her.

'A tumbler of Firewhisky, more like,' said Minerva.

'I knew my mother was wrong when she told me 'the way to a girl's heart is through a box of chocolates' - it was Firewhisky all the time.  My companions certainly always had more success than I,' reminisced Albus Dumbledore, moving to stand beside her, looking out into the misty afternoon. 

'I don't think Firewhisky is the way to a girl's _heart_,' Minerva replied dryly.  

 'Hmm ho,' said Albus, vaguely; but when she looked at him, she couldn't help smiling.

'What do you want for Christmas, Albus?  I've bought you something, well, silly, but I wanted to buy you something you wanted.'

'You're buying me a present?' He sounded surprised.

'Well, of course!'    

'It's not a book, is it?' asked Dumbledore, sounding a touch desperate.  Minerva looked at him strangely.

'No, it's not, but if you want one, I can get you-'

'No!  No,' he interrupted her.  'Please, Minerva - ever since people started thinking of me as an academic all I get are books for Christmas presents, _boring books - and it's become worse since I defeated Grindelwald!  Have you any idea how tedious it is to unwrap book after book after book?  There's no mystery, no excitement!  Anyone can tell what a wrapped book is!  I don't know how many copies I have of my own books.  What makes people think I'd want to have a copy of my _own book_ ?  Either way, they all go into the school library.  I have piles of wrapped books upstairs, awaiting Christmas morning, sent to me by well meaning ex-students, parents, academics, ministry officials, foreign ministers, ambassadors, students, teachers, friends-' _

'Albus,' said Minerva, feeling sorry for him, and secretly amused.  'I haven't bought you a book.'

'You haven't?'

'I most certainly haven't.'

'I could kiss you!' exuberantly claimed Albus, flinging arms wide ecstatically. 

There was a cough from behind them.

'I do so hate to interrupt such a romantic interlude,' drawled Professor Sendar,  'but the Headmaster is required in his study.'

'I'll be right along,' said Albus, smiling, eyes laughing with Minerva as she returned the smile.

'It's a matter of some urgency,' said Sendar, pressingly.

'Indeed,' said Albus, his voice suddenly a somewhat distant monotone.  He bowed his head to Minerva, with the shadow of wink, and turned to make his way up the marble staircase.

'And what plans does our Head of Gryffindor have for this afternoon?' queried Professor Sendar, sidling closer.  Minerva ignored him, turning to look after the departing Albus.

'Professor Dumbledore!' she called.  He paused in mid stride up the stairs and swivelled gracefully to look down upon her with a twitching smile.

'Yes, Professor McGonagall?' he asked, hardly needing to raise his voice - its depth echoed well.

'You did not answer my question,' she reminded him.

'Whatever I receive will no doubt be exactly what I most wanted!' said Albus and winked then.

'That doesn't help at all, Albus,' muttered Minerva under her breath.  She clapped her hands sharply and called out.  'Asp!'

With a sharp crack, Asp the House Elf appeared, a ready smile and a tea cloth over one arm.  'Is the Professor wanting tea and cake?'

'No thank you, Asp.  Would you mind bringing my winter cloak, gloves and my purse down from my office?  It would save me the bother of climbing all those stairs.'

'Of course, Professor!  Nothing would give Asp greater pleasure.  May Asp also give Professor McGonagall her Christmas card?'

A slightly bemused Professor McGonagall took a homemade Christmas card, (made out of pasta, holly, something green (possibly spinach?), and charmed to sing loudly when opened by the unwary giftee) and thanked the elf with a fond smile.  Asp, delighted by her thanks, disappeared up the stairs to collect her things for her. 

Professor Sendar lingered still, but Minerva did her best to ignore his presence as she silenced the card with a cursory _silencio._

'Would you care for some company, Minerva?' asked Sendar, suddenly.

'No thank you, Michaelmas.  I thought I made it perfectly clear that the only time your company is preferable is when it's absent,' replied Minerva, perfunctorily. 

'Well, that was clear enough,' muttered Sendar under his breath.

'Good,' said Minerva coolly.  'I strive to be clear and straightforward in my teaching approach.'

'Then your teaching methods have certainly improved,' Sendar congratulated her acidly.  Minerva remained silent and objected her unusual Christmas card to close scrutiny.  'I think I shall be taking your advice, Minerva.'

'What advice, Sendar?  Seeking psychiatric help for your problems?' 

'Five minutes in our esteemed Headmaster's company would render five years of expensive therapy useless,' jibed Sendar.  'I'm thinking about quitting.'

'Bravo,' flatly replied Minerva, putting on a bored expression.

'Quitting teaching, traveling the world, seeing the sights, discovering beautiful women...'

'Good for you,' said Minerva, ostentatiously stifling a yawn.  'Leaving soon?'

'Good to see I've built such lasting relationships here,' snarled Sendar, obviously feeling sadly unloved.  

Minerva, however**, had no sympathy.  'You didn't exactly work overly hard on this one, Sendar,' she commented, pursing her lips distastefully.**

'You obviously haven't had much experience, or you would know what a mistake you're making,' said Sendar, patronisingly, confidently assured of his worth.  

'I'm not sure I can believe you just said that!'  Minerva almost laughed.  'You've confirmed that I am most certainly _not making a mistake.  You only ever wanted to get into my bed, Sendar.  Seeing you now, listening to you, I'm not sure you even know what it is to have a platonic relationship with a woman!'_

'What?  What on earth do you think I have with Elise?'

'I think you have an acquaintanceship.'

'And I think you're scared to fall in love,' he bit back.

'Scared?  You're hysterical!  There was _never a chance that I would fall in love with such a miserable creature as you, Sendar.'_

'You don't think?'

'I happen to know myself better than anyone else.'

'I don't think I've ever met such a cold, frigid cow!' Sendar suddenly attacked, aggressively jabbing a finger toward** her.  He stood taller and wider than her, a muscular figure tense with restrained anger.**

'I think that's enough, Sendar,' said David Hawthorne, suddenly appearing from behind them.  It appeared that he had been listening from behind the statue of one of the huge bronze Hogs that stood in the foyer.  'I've heard enough.  Get out, before I throw you out.'

'You can't order me around, Hawthorne.  You just watch yourself, I've had one too many slights from you-'

'And so what?' interrupted David, scowling, his dark brows drawn together ominously.  'Do you think that somehow I'd be scared by some pretty boy who thinks he's God's gift to women?'

'Have some common sense, Hawthorne.  Keep out of this and keep your nose clean.'

'Don't threaten me, Sendar.'  Angry sparks lit in David's black eyes.

'Or else what?  You'll throw a pot plant at me?'

'I think it's time you took your own advice and left Hogwarts,' growled David.

'So do I!  It's clearly full of inferior -'

'Manners?' suggested Professor Horner, hands clasped in front of her and an expression that was truly glacial.  'I was never sure you really were a mistake until now.'

'I'm sorry?' asked Sendar, confused.  He hadn't heard Horner approach.

'Appointing such a young, inexperienced, and volatile man as deputy head of Hogwarts was surely a mistake, but I was confident that before long you would reveal your worth.  Apparently I was mistaken,' said the Head of Ravenclaw, shrugging slightly and catching Minerva's eye with the tiniest hint of sympathy. 

'I suppose you thought you would make a better job of it?  Face it, Elise, you're far too old to be much use in the system nowadays.'

'That's it,' said Minerva as she drew her wand.  'Apologise to Professor Horner for disrespect, and then leave.  You need to cool off and think about what you are saying.'

'If you dare-' began Sendar, practically spitting fury.

'Oh, I dare all right!' said Minerva, a cool smile upon her lips, a challenging glint in her intelligent eyes.  'I think you forget what I did before I became a professor, Michaelmas.  I fought as an Auror in the war.  You know, that war which you had no part in…?'  

Her taunts paid off.  She had clearly hit home as his face flushed pale.  He  beganstammering excuses about responsibilities and being needed at home, but Minerva had seen too many eager lads lie about their age to fight - and then die -  to have any sympathy for a coward.

'How many white feathers do you have hidden away, Sendar?  How many coward's rosettes do you harbour?  Albus Dumbledore was deputy headmaster, yet he found time to brave the frontier; to fight and to ultimately win against the greatest evil this world has ever known.  For all your bluster, you're really just a spineless fearful bastard, relying on your good looks and slick talk to weasel your way into places you don't have the worth to belong to!'

'You- you!' spat Sendar incoherently as his eyes flicked wildly from person to person.  Sweat glistened on his handsome face, and in his fear he looked surprisingly pathetic.  With a final hiss he turned on his tailored heel and fled down towards his dungeons, there presumably to lick his wounds in peace. 

Minerva lowered her wand, and felt a vague sense of shame at being so relentlessly cruel to the man.

'Don't,' said Elise Horner, placing a hand on Minerva's arm.  'If you hadn't, someone else would have; it was well deserved.'

'Thanks,' laughed Minerva, smiling at David, who stood against the ornate oak banister one arm lazily entwined the post.  'Seriously, thanks.'

'Hurrumph,' said David, now back to his normal reticent self.

'Never mind,' said Elise, and Minerva wasn't quite sure whom she was speaking to - after all, David and Elise had been colleagues far longer than Minerva had held her position here.  'If you want to go shopping today, Minerva, you probably need to leave fairly soon; it's getting on.'

'Right,' she agreed; and, collecting her cloak and purse from a frightened House elf, left.

~*~*~

Professor Minerva McGonagall stood, almost posed for action, at the head of the great marble staircase that led up to the Great Hall, one long slender hand resting caressingly upon the heavy oak banister that carved its way gracefully down to the foyer below.  Her gaze was focused yet hazy, her grey eyes staring ahead, fixed upon a point in memory, ignorant of reality, her posture tall, strict and unbending as she thought…

Her fingers, resting flat upon the polished oak, twitched.  Her lips quirked and her brow furrowed; it looked as though something deep, something of disturbing importance was discovered, revealed in cognitive shadows.

Her introspection, her moment of clarity was interrupted by the arrival of a fellow professor.

'I've been watching you for the last thirty minutes, Minerva, and I'm intrigued,' said Professor Horner, the Ravenclaw Head of House and Potions Mistress.

'Intrigued by what?' asked Minerva, coming to herself with a little shake.

'By what depth of troubled thought that** must plague you to contain you to this chilly hall for so long!' **

'Troubled?  No, I just became distracted,' replied Minerva, her hand sliding along the banister and then lifting up as she gave a slight sigh.

'Well, come and have a sherry.  I have a very good year; my son procured it for me.'  Elise Horner took Minerva's arm to nudge her along, away from the draught that swept up from the great front doors of Hogwarts to chill the corridors of the ancient school.

'Your son?  I didn't know you had a son!' said Minerva, genuinely surprised, and a little distressed to discover she knew so little about her female colleague.

'Oh yes, thirty eight years old, married to a shy little thing who's an expert on magical birds.  They have a little girl, seven she is, Evelyn's her name.  Wonderful little thing, ever so timid though, but very intelligent… I have high hopes for her!' smiled Elise, looking extremely proud.  'My son works in foreign magical imports, lots of paperwork, he thrives on technicalities.   I'm afraid he can be terribly boring sometimes, occupational hazard I fear.'

'Oh, yes,' said Minerva, marvelling at this chatty side of the normally staid and extremely reserved older lady.

'Of course, his job does have its perks,' smiled Elise, welcoming Minerva into her study.  Opening a classy drinks cabinet, she poured a generous splash of rich sherry into two crystal tumblers.  Her office was dark, but the big fire in the hearth offset it and made the room cosy instead of gloomy.  Heavy drapes hung at the window and old paintings of even older battles lined the walls **– **it was an office of age and experience, with a distinctive taste.  Minerva's own was still somewhat bare and basic.

'How are you enjoying your time here at Hogwarts, Minerva?' 

'Very much,' smiled Minerva, taking a cautious sip.  She was not really a drinker.

Elise Horner sat down and, making sure Minerva was comfortably seated upon the (not matching) armchair, proceeded to give Minerva her characteristic piercing look.  It was not quite a match to Albus Dumbledore's but she could certainly** hold her own.**

'Sendar has made things a little awkward on occasion,' admitted Minerva, responding to the pointed unspoken hint, 'and Albus and I…' she trailed off.

'Albus and you… what?' queried Elise, with a curious persistence.

'It's nothing,' said Minerva, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.

'I didn't mean to pry, Minerva,' said Elise, hastening to reassure her.  'I was simply … well I think you might have a career here, if you wish to pursue it.  I was just feeling you out.  Forgive me my slight deception.  I am also rather fond of you - you remind me of a young woman I once knew.'

'Who?' asked Minerva, genuinely touched by this admission.

'Myself,' admitted Elise, giving a short bark of a laugh.  'Lets just say I wasn't always so… reserved.'

'I would not mind aspiring to be … alike,' blushed Minerva, returning the compliment and speaking truth, for she did wish to be much more the strict professional that Elise Horner was.

'Oh, thank you my dear, but I must say, I hope you do not,' smiled Elise, strictness seeming very far away from her right now.

'It is not so bad, surely?' laughed Minerva, slightly unnerved by the knowing look that lingered in the older lady's wise glance.

'I think, Minerva, that you have yet to live.  You are afraid.'

'Afraid?  I was an Auror!  I fought for my life and those in my company!  Afraid!' protested Minerva, afire with defensive anger.  A churning fear was pulling and shrivelling her insides; why was everyone saying she was afraid?

'Not that kind of afraid, Minerva,' said Elise, quietly drinking her sherry.  'Afraid to let yourself go, perhaps; afraid to let your emotions have control -'

'I don't know what you're talking about!' snapped Minerva, eyes flashing.

'No, I don't suppose you want to hear 'about' it.'

'Professor Horner-'

'Enough, Minerva.   I shall say no more, but,' she added softly, 'it was my concern which made me speak'.

Minerva did not reply but instead lowered her gaze.  Something was slipping away from beneath her - like standing upon a muddy slope and suddenly your shoes no longer grip and you're sliding like an unwary ice skater, arms windmilling; trying to find your footing, to stay upright and not fall down that slope, that dangerous scary unknown slope where lies dark depths of thoughts even you hide from…

'Minerva.'  Elise quietly interrupted the silence that had grown large and uncomfortable.  'Forgive an old lady her blunt tongue?'

'Of course,' said Minerva stiffly.  Then, glancing at that creased and rigid face, looking so strangely disturbed and upset, she relented, and gave a slightly forced smile.  'Old indeed!'

'Well I am!  You by comparison, are the springiest spring chicken of all!'

'It's winter,' grinned Minerva, 'you can't use metaphors that are out of season!'

'Now you're teasing, or the sherry's going to your head.'

'I've only** had a single glass!' objected Minerva, laughing.**

'Then we'll settle for teasing, and I'll take ten points from Gryffindor,' declared Elise firmly, much to Minerva's horror.

'You can't do that, Professor!' she cried.  Then she realised what she sounded like.

Elise Horner, seventy eight years of age, unbending schoolmarm, strict professional, and always one to follow rules to the letter, snorted into her sherry glass in a totally undignified manner.  

'Did you just-' said Minerva, disbelievingly.

'Absolutely not!' said Horner, trying to control the giggles trying to erupt from her mouth.

They caught each other's eye and all of a sudden  burst into hysterical laughter.  They  clutched their stomachs, rolled from side to side, wheezed unintelligible words through a curtain of unstoppable laughter, as they shared in that comfortable yet completely uncontrollable thing -  hilarity between friends.

A noise from the door way disturbed their shamelessly raucous laughter.  Looking up they saw - much to their horror -  Professor Albus Dumbledore, who was** watching with undisguised glee.**

'Ah,' said Professor Elise Horner succinctly, turning an aristocratic puce (that is, she turned purple but refused to acknowledge it). 

'Professor Dumbledore,' said Minerva weakly.  Her stomach hurt.

'Good evening, Professors Horner and McGonagall.'  Then Dumbledore smiled.  'Is anything in particular the cause of all this mirth?'

'No, no,' said Elise, trying to discreetly hide the bottle of sherry and two drained glasses so that the headmaster didn't think they were a couple of drunks.  Minerva moved to shield her from sight.

'A letter arrived for you Minerva, stamped urgent and with your family crest.  I thought you might wish to open it immediately,' said Dumbledore, eyes sparkling merrily, perfectly aware that Elise was currently stuffing the bottle of sherry down the back of her sofa.

_Damn the man_ thought Minerva, as she took the sealed letter from him and frowned; puzzled, but not alarmed.

'I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow Minerva,' said Elise, now with a straight face, 'but I won't be here for Christmas day, I'm spending it with my son.  Speaking of that - would you mind looking after my Ravenclaws?  I've two sixth years and a seventh year who won't be any bother, she's here to do research for her potions project.  Would you?'

'Of course,' agreed Minerva, slightly distracted by the letter she held.

'Thank you, I believe I 'owe you one',' said Horner gratefully, as she ushered them courteously out, returning to her office at once, and leaving Albus and Minerva standing on the balcony above the foyer.

'Should I depart?' politely inquired Albus, watching Minerva frown at the letter.

'What?  Oh, no, please don't,' said Minerva, as she turned the letter over and pressed her thumb to the seal.  The parchment unrolled at once and she began to read,  

_Dearest Minerva…_

The Ministry letter has finally arrived.  For one brief moment I thought it might herald good tidings… but no.

_I never saw a letter so black, Minerva.  _

_They have found his body. _

_ Winston has become strangely distanced, and I am… I am undone.  Yes,  I who used to be so strong, who could make even you do what you were told, I who took our parents deaths so stoically, and our brother's so bravely.  Should now be so weak, so incapable of anything but knowing and feeling my loss.  _

_I have lost my son to War.  _

_Why my son?!_

_I would have given my life, if only the gods had asked, I would have done anything, _anything _to save him!  _

_Descartes Edward McGonagall-Murray is dead._

_My son is dead!  _

_Forgive me._

_Your Loving sister,_

_Cecelia_

Minerva finished reading and let her hands fall.  The letter fell from her loosened fingers and floated, seesawing towards the ground.  She watched it go with a strange fuzz before her eyes, an eerie effect as the parchment seemed to slow in the air and every drop took an age.

'She always was overly dramatic,' said Minerva, and heard her voice from a great distance away.  'Des, now, he always laughed at her when she got so emotional; he would give her a hug and tell her not to be so silly.  Like his father that way.  Winston's full of common sense, a very practical man; good with his hands, carves furniture in his free time.  Des took it up too; he carved me a little wooden cat each year since he was nine.  I couldn't tell what the first one was, but he got better.  I lost four, on my travels, lost them… _How could I be so STUPID!'_

'Whoa,' said Albus, taken aback by her sudden yelling.  'Minerva, my dear, what was in the letter?'

'I taught him how to fly; we would creep away into the back paddock where the grass was green and soft and we would fly…  He was good, very good, I was so proud when he first took off on his own, so proud when he flew for the Ravenclaw team!'

'Minerva,' said Albus, a sad suspicion forming in his head.  He reached for the letter, though the truth of the matter shone out from her like a thousand razors ripping her heart.

'I was 'Aunt Minerva', but when I stayed around for awhile he would lose that shyness and call me Aunt Tabbycat; and if he wanted to be chased around the house, Aunt Kitty.'

'Sweetheart,' murmured Albus, tears sparkling in his ever bright eyes as he held out his arms to her.  She looked at him like he was alien, foreign to her as a postage stamp.

'I made special trips to oversee some of his Auror training sessions.  He'd say to his mates; 'Here's my Aunt Animagus, she's ripping, wait till you see her wand work!', and they would crowd around…  I was always so surprised, and they would ask me all those naïve questions about being out in the field, about battle, and dark wizards.  Des would stand, grinning cheekily at me, right beside me, taller by a handspan, with that shaggy head of hair he called stylish and his mother called a mop head.'

'Minerva, my beloved, please,' whispered Albus, desperate for her to stop this torture.  The endearments slipped out, unnoticed by either.

'I told him, _I told him what he was doing was right!  _I encouraged him_ __to be an Auror!  It's all my **fault!' **wailed Minerva.  As she groped forward blindly her outstretched hands found Albus' chest._

'And now he's _dead!' cried Minerva, eyes staring wildly, unseeing**, up at Albus' own. 'He's **__dead!  DEAD**!'**_

'It is not your fault.'  Albus held her close.

'He was seventeen Albus, seventeen!  Oh Merlin, he was only a child, and now, never an adult.'  Minerva's hands fisted his robes beneath her clenched palms and she began to calm, yet no tears drenched her pale cheeks nor crystallised in her eyes. 

'I'm going to bed,' she said, abruptly** moving away.  'I need to be alone.'**

'I think not,' said Albus.

'Excuse me?' asked Minerva, narrowing her steely grey eyes.

'I will not have you sitting alone in your quarters, going over and over how you are to blame for the death of your sister's son.'

'And just how do you intend to reinforce that?' spat Minerva.

'Any way that I have to,' said Albus, steadfastly.  'If I have to pick you up and sling you over my shoulder, so be it.'

'You-what?' gasped Minerva, temporarily shocked out of her reaction to her nephew's death.

'You will sleep with me tonight.' added Albus.

'_What?'_ thundered Minerva, outraged.

'So that I may keep an eye on you, we shall sleep in my rooms.  I have a spare bedroom that is adequately furnished.'

'My nephew-' began Minerva, flushed and indignant.

'Is dead.  I am sorry, Minerva, but I will not leave you alone to grieve.  I cannot,' said Albus, with no small amount of compassion.

'Why not?'

'Because I care for you,' admitted Albus quietly.

And there was no answer to that in Minerva's mind.

'Come,' insisted Albus gently.  He tucked her arm through his and guided her forward.  Behind them the letter lifted as an invisible hand pulled it into Albus' pocket for safe keeping, and distantly the voices of students heralded the coming of Christmas morn in cheering verse.

~*~*~

Later that same night, Minerva was curled up on Albus' comfortable settee, grasping a forgotten mug of tea and staring unseeingly into the fire that spat glowing embers at the magical fire guard.  Albus was seated behind his desk, working on papers.  Periodically he would glance up to look at her still form, and a look of deep regret would crease his face.  

Finally the silence grew too much for him, and he stood from his straight backed chair (he found it helped him concentrate on his work) and made his way over to her.

'Minerva.'  He sat beside her and disengaged her hand from the cold mug of tea.

'I wonder when they'll schedule the funeral.  Christmas day?' wondered Minerva.

'I doubt it,' replied Albus, thinking _I hope not._

'I hate funerals.'  Minerva continued as if he had not spoken.

'Yes,' said Albus.

'I suppose I had better write a letter back?' said Minerva almost cheerfully. 

Albus glanced warily at her.  

'To Cecilia, ask when the funeral is, etc.  I suppose I'll have to ask the Headmaster for the day off.  What flowers should I order?'

'The Headmaster is right here, Minerva,' Albus pointed out quietly.  He didn't like this new Minerva, this distanced inhuman creature whose eyes no longer spoke to him.

'I wonder where they'll hold it.  I wonder … I wonder whether his body is even recognisable - what if they've got the wrong body?  It might not be Des at all!' Excited, Minerva stood and paced before the fire.  'It's a mistake, a dreadful mistake, he's still alive really, oh he _is, Albus!' Finally she directly addressed him, but her manic expression did nothing to reassure him.  He stood and rested a hand upon her slim, almost bony shoulder; was she eating enough?_

'The ministry spells are accurate, Minerva; they would not send out the letter unless they were sure.  Des is dead, and he won't be coming back.  You must face it like the brave woman I know you are.'

And finally, finally she faced him, truly looked at him.  'I'm so tired of death, Albus.  Must this war haunt us for the rest of our lives?  Will the list of dead never stop growing?  Can we never be free from ghosts, from nightmares and grief?'

Albus hadn't known she suffered from nightmares; he filed it away for future thought.  'It will not go on for ever, Minerva, I promise you.'

'Should we then forget all those who died in the war, ignore their sacrifices and their pain?'

'No, never, Minerva, never; but we cannot live our life in the past, cannot give our every waking and sleeping thought to those lost, because it will serve no purpose except to create more grief and pain for those left behind.  That is not what the war was about, Minerva -  it was about creating a future free from the trials of prejudice and sorrow,' Albus spoke passionately, but did not raise his voice.  'A few weeks ago, you yourself convinced me of this.  Blundell's death was not my fault, and neither is Des' yours.'

For a long moment she looked at him - no, through him, at something intangible, before she lifted her head and took a deep breath, and smiled somewhat querulously at him.

'Parchment, Albus, do you have some parchment I might use?' And her voice was back to normal and her eyes spoke to him again; never mind that sorrow tinged her voice or shadowed her eyes.

'Of course,' he murmured, and before long she was seated at his desk, his extravagant peacocks' quill in hand (she hadn't even commented) and struggling to express her sorrows and sympathy to her sister.  Albus made cups of tea, and left a sugar bowl of Lemon Drops, his favourite sweet, within her easy reach. Occasionally he would touch her shoulder or make an idle comment about the tea, reassuring her that she was not alone.

When at last she finished the letter and dispatched it by owl, she sat, tense and pensive in the same chair, till Albus persuaded her to sit with him before the fire and made inane chat whilst she sat mute, but appreciative.

When she started to yawn, Albus suggested going to bed, resting till the morning, but she disagreed so violently that he acquiesced and instead fetched a blanket to drape around her, insisting when she protested.  

He sat beside her till one o'clock in the morning, when her head finally began to droop, and boldly he coaxed her forward so that her head lay upon his shoulder.  When her breathing evened out and her hands were loose upon her blanket, when in her sleep she reached out to him and curled close to his warmth he relaxed, and allowed himself to stroke her hair and murmur his own condolences.  

The Grandfather clock struck the half hour, past one. Albus reluctantly stretched out his hand to his wand; he would have to move her to the spare bed, where she would sleep far more comfortably.  Half way there his hand paused, and glancing down at her sleeping form he made a decision that he justified to himself as not wanting to wake her.  Strong capable hands pulled her close and he lifted her himself, with only his strength and companionable love to hold her safe.  An arm around her shoulders and beneath her knees, she was lighter in his arms than he would have thought and still as beautiful.

_As beautiful_… carefully he suppressed the unbidden thought.

When he laid her down upon the white sheets, he thought to undo her hair from its tight pins and was surprised at its length and weight.  He also unlaced her boots and slid them off, and with her comfort  in mind, he carefully unclasped her cloak and removed it.  Beneath she wore a sensible black long skirt and a white shirt with holly detailed on the cuffs.  He covered her with the sheets and a blanket  (murmuring a warming charm that would linger, for the nights were chilly) and then departed to his own bed, remembering to leave a candle glowing in her room, just in case she should wake.

~*~

Minerva woke, feeling awkward and uncomfortable.  It seemed she had fallen asleep in her clothes.  The bedroom she was in was unfamiliar to her, but not unpleasant; it had the look of a room rarely used and was full of Albus' clutter and the debris of old gifts and trinkets.  Yet it was clean and airy, if somewhat over full and Minerva felt inexplicably comfortable in it, knowing as she did that it was Albus' spare room, and full of his belongings.

Fawkes flew silently into her room, and came almost nervously to greet her.  She welcomed him; and then the sudden weight of her nephew's death crashed down upon her and she lost those few seconds of peace she had had just after waking.  With a start she felt something cool touch her cheek and looked up to see Fawkes' great obsidian eyes weep pearly tears to drop upon her face and soothe her pain.

Des had been a cheerful boy, full of laughter and a belief that the world was a better place than it actually was.  Minerva knew that he would not have wanted her to spend her days in grief or denial.  With a new energy that came from the very core of her being, she swung her legs out of bed; and noticed, for the first time, that she lacked a cloak, that her shoes were lined neatly beside her bed and that her hair was a tangled loose mess, hanging dishevelled from her head.

It appeared that Albus had put her to bed and tried to make her comfortable; it was a strange thought, Albus undressing her.  Minerva shook her head.  There had to be a bathroom somewhere around here - she needed a wash and a change of clothes.  Briskly she pushed open the door of her room and found herself presented with the choice of four doors in the revealed hallway.  _Decisions, decisions…_

Of course, the fates decreed the first door she opened led her straight into Albus' own bedchamber, where he lay still asleep upon a huge four poster bed.  Minerva stood in the doorway and noticed how his long auburn hair looked tangled, streaked unattractively across the pillows behind his head, and how his snarled beard looked as if it were caught beneath him; she could imagine him wincing as he woke and sat up.  

There was something though, about seeing him there, something special; as if she was seeing him for the first time as a man, just a man, asleep on his beard.  Not as the infallible Sir Albus Dumbledore, Light Wizard, Defeater of the Dark, Chief Warlock, academic extraordinaire and so on and so on, (for one really could go on for some time with all the titles that had been bestowed upon him over the years), but simply as a man.  There was something endearingly vulnerable about him as he lay there asleep, his breathing ruffling his dark moustache, and his long form stretched out beneath the covers, illuminated by a bar of light that slipped in through a crack in the curtains.

With that she realised that he was awake and that his bright blue eyes were regarding her from beneath dark arched brows and a pleasant smile graced his lips as he watched her, watching him.

'You should really plait that at night,' she said.  Albus blinked.  'Your hair,' she explained, 'it's a mess.'

'Thank you,' wryly replied Albus.  His voice had a roughness she had never heard before, and presumed it came from only just waking.  She saw he was about to sit up, and leapt to his side in time to deftly slide his beard out from beneath him as he did so.  

'I noticed, as you slept…' Minerva trailed off, she was perched on the edge of his bed.  To stave off the awkward moment she spoke again.  'Albus, thank you for last night - thank you for everything you did.'

'It was nothing, Minerva, just returning the favour, you remember…?'

'Yes.  Yes I do.'

There was a pause.  Minerva clasped and then unclasped her hands.  She was shoulder to shoulder with Albus, but she had never felt more unattractive, messy and sleepy eyed as she was.  

'Well,' she said, feeling a great need to escape, as Albus shifted beside her to rest a hand briefly on her own.  'If you have a bathroom I could use?'

'Of course, turn to your left and it's the second door on the right.'

'Thank you,' said Minerva, and made good her escape.

 ~*~*~

Christmas Eve for Minerva that year was a very unhappy one.  Much of her time was spent in doing last minutes details for the school, checking on her students, avoiding snowballs and an emotional twenty minutes spent speaking to her sister through the Floo network.  The funeral was scheduled for Boxing Day, three days after they had received confirmation of Des' death; it was to be held at the Murray Hall, an elegant Elizabethan building, in view of the Scottish mountains he had so loved as a child.  A small ceremony, with family members and respective partners, and in accordance to his wishes (all Aurors were rather morbidly required to make wills before going out onto active duty).  His ashes were to be scattered by his Aunt Tabby from their favourite hideout, which she had revealed to Des when he was seven years old.  

Albus kept popping around her office and quarters, for usually completely absurd reasons, just to check on her.  She had to suppress the urge to fall into his arms, like some lily-livered damsel in distress, and cry into his scratchy auburn beard that she didn't want to do this alone.  

She was plagued by thoughts and doubts in herself;  she should have done more with him, should have stopped around more often, should have played more and worked less.  So much she wished she had said and done with Des, so much she hadn't thought of, and so now she spent her every waking moment, pale but upright, busying herself to avoid thoughts - and dreaded the nights, where voices of the dead came alive again to blame her and fill her with guilt.

Elise Horner was sympathetic and agreed to keep an eye out for Minerva's Gryffindors on Boxing Day when she would be at the funeral.  'I'm terribly sorry, Minerva, is there anything I can do?' she had asked, to which Minerva had shaken her head but gratefully.

 Gill Aldridge had been tearfully upset for Minerva who had accepted the emotional and sincere hug from the school nurse.

'Are you sure you want me to spend Christmas with you, Albus?' asked Minerva that Christmas Eve, as they drank hot chocolate and sampled some of the splendid mince pies baked by the House elves. 

'Of course!' insisted Albus, around a mouth full of pastry and filling.

'I won't exactly be full of good cheer,' pointed out Minerva.  Albus looked at her silently for a moment, as he finished off his mouthful, then he stood and crossed to her.

'What?' she asked him suspiciously, looking up, and up a bit more.

Albus Dumbledore did his best to look solemn, then before she could complain or make a sound his hands gripped her beneath the shoulders and lifted her up.  For a moment his strength held her feet dangling above the floor.  Minerva would have been sure magic was involved if she hadn't been able to see the muscles straining against the fabric of his robe sleeves.  Then he wrapped his arms around her and encompassed her in a huge bear hug.  He began to speak, his cheek against her hair.

'I know that your grief will make you sombre but I also know that Descartes Edward Murray-McGonagall would not have wanted you to forget how to smile, how to laugh on Christmas day.  It's a day of love and joy, a day of giving.  Minerva, if you let your sorrow colour tomorrow, then there is a chance that the memory of it will colour every Christmas day that you have yet to experience.  Don't let that happen, please?  It will not make your grief any less to remember the happier times that you and he spent together.'

'I know,' said Minerva, her voice slightly muffled by his robes.  'It's just so hard!'

'Then know that I will lend you my strength tomorrow, Minerva.  When tears threaten, feel free to demand tissues and a willing shoulder; when despair looms seek the antidote in my arms, and if you just want to be held, or to be sat with, do not fear to ask me,' said Albus, emotion making his voice gruff.

'Oh, Albus,' weakly murmured Minerva, tears glistening in her eyes.  'That is the loveliest thing a man has ever said to me…  I don't understand why you are doing this?'

'I've known you since you were a school girl, Minerva, and as an academic and a fellow Auror; but now that I have known you as a friend, I find myself more than unwilling to give you up.  Will you accept my love?' he asked, the strength in his voice reverberating through his chest next to Minerva's ear.

'Your love…' repeated Minerva in shock.  She lifted her head to look at him, and found herself unable to fully understand the depth of emotion that blazed with such conviction in his bright blue eyes.

'Not all men are bastards,' he whispered.  Slowly he brought his hand up.  Long scholarly fingers hesitantly stroked her cheek.  Her eyes widened.  'I promise to always be your loyal friend.'

Minerva had never received so many mixed signals in five minutes.  Her head and heart were spinning so fast she couldn't begin to make sense of them, and on top of her grief the result was confusion.  What she did know was that she had never felt so warm and so very, very comfortable in a man's arms before now;  she also knew that every touch from him sent shivers along her spine, turned her legs to jelly and rid her thought of all reason.  

However she also thought she knew, or had known, that Albus had no interest in her 'that way'…  at least, so she'd thought, and that he thought of her as little more than a colleague whom he'd had the pleasure of watching grow up.

'Albus, I don't.. I…'  She fought with the uncooperative linguistic faculty of her brain.

'I'm sorry Minerva; not really the appropriate time to throw that in, perhaps, but I thought if you knew that you had the love of a friend, it would help you in your grieving process.' Albus had withdrawn his hand from her cheek, its lack now seemed less without it.

'Platonic, of course,' he added, smiling benevolently.

_You Bastard_ thought Minerva, suddenly; much to her own shock.   It was without reason - her own mind was playing tricks on her;  she was projecting her own desires and… no she wasn't going to go down that road.  Some women did, blamed every disappointment and failure on themselves projecting unfair and unrealistic expectations on a man.  Minerva was quite determined never to be so convenientfor any man.

'Of course,' she echoed, hollowly and withdrew herself from his embrace.  'You must know that you also have my love, for a friend you have been to me down the years.  I really appreciate what you have done for me, Albus.  Now I must go to bed -  I shall see you in the morning.  Good night!'  She took a strict hold upon herself and kissed his cheek before departing with his good night and return kiss on the side.  There was nothing like a woman scorned for bringing the blood back up to boil; all that sluggish dread, that lazy grief had gone.  The sharp pain she had, the headache, and the unsuppressed anger at the world were far more healthy.

For an hour or so she thoroughly destroyed her quarters.  It was a jolly good work out and a brilliant stress buster.  Minerva felt much of her tension had gone with the screaming and smashing.  

She had of course, removed things of value to her and cast many silencing charms, since right now she didn't need a trip to the more high security area of St Mungo's.

Back in his own rooms, Albus Dumbledore paced the floor, muttering to himself darkly.  Every so often he would, unusually for him, curse violently before shaking his head regretfully and continuing to wear thin his carpet.

_I should never, never have been so forward!  What must she think of me?  How crass, to be so… suggestive in this traumatic time for her!  What was I thinking?  Surely some madness must have taken me, to be so foolish, to be so… truthful?  _

_No, I am not a bastard!   I am her friend, her loyal companion, her… would I want to be… do I secretly lust after my own employee?  By Merlin, I would know if I felt so!  I love her, yes, but as I love Elise or Aberforth… don't I?  How she must hate me now, how she must curse my name, how she must curse me… bastard!  Does she think of me so, now, now that I have ruined… ruined what?_

It was Fawkes, the loyal everlasting companion of Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore who at last bought peace to the troubled man.  As he had often done before he provided that relief, that soothing song to ease the frantic thoughts of a man questioning the desires of his heart.

~*~*~*~

'...May the soul of Descartes Edward Murray-McGonagall rest in eternal peace...' the elderly man entoned, with a voice surprisingly deep and vibrant for such a frail body, Minerva tuned him out and let her eyes rest upon the magical picture of Des, perched against the flowers and the coffin being lowered, slowly, into the fire that would burn all his remains to gray featureless ashes, to be scattered in the wind at Old Oats.  By her.

Her new black robes were uncomfortable, stiff and formal;  the collar itched and the brocaded hems were heavy, her black witch's hat had a black feather in it; beneath her eyes lay black shadows and her pupils had filled her eyes to turn them seemingly black in the somber shadows of Murray Hall.  

As the coffin was swallowed by the hungry cavern of fire, heat burst inside Minerva, every inch of her skin flashed into fire, sweat sprung silver on her brow and a thousand matches ignited along a thousand different nerve endings; it was agony.  Agony for her, yet her sister sat like an ice carved statue right beside her, eyes fixed on the wise man speaking, blinking at regular intervals, like a robot; was she feeling the same as Minerva?

No, of course not.  Des had been her son, her child, and she was watching him being burned, burned; it would not have surprised Minerva if Cecelia had jumped up and attempted to rescue her son from the fire, because the urge existed inside herself.  The fire within her coiled - then leapt; she was being scorched, burned**,** and she thought that she would have to break the silence of the sixty-two people inside the building, break it to scream out a wordless cry of pain, an inhuman shriek.  

Then a hand was laid gently over her left hand, curled as it was around the edge of the wooden pier, cool and soothing.  Minerva felt the fierce heat reside and turned her hand palm up.  It was enfolded comfortingly by the larger hand of Albus Dumbledore.  

Resting cool on her chest a phoenix pendant spread a delightful cool throughout her body - Albus' Christmas present, made of magesilver by his own hand.  A queenly gift indeed, with the mysterious words, 'Order of the Phoenix' carved on the box it had been placed within.  When she moved from exclaiming over its exquisite detail to asking about the meaning of the name she had been met with enigmatic answers and teasing replies;  but she was so pleased with the thought that had obviously gone into his gift that she had let it pass.  

The moment which she had been dreading came all too soon, and Winston Murray passed her the black urn which contained his son's earthly remains and asked her quietly to respect Descartes' wishes and scatter the ashes from Old Oats, a derelict old mill that had once been used to grind oats and had been party to many centuries of McGonagall childrens' playing. The children had always thought it an ever so secret a place to hide from their authorial superiors, its remote location high up in the mountains had allowed imaginations to run wild and gloriously free from adult intervention.  Needless to say, parents had always kept an eye on their offspring by way of a _vigilans charm._

Looking after her sister, Minerva felt that perhaps she had the better side of the bargain.   Cecelia and Winston would have to thank and accept the condolences of some sixty people; miserable in their own grief, they would have to make a conscious effort to be social and pleased to see people come to their son's funeral.  

Albus walked beside her right shoulder as she walked down between the aisles of wooden benches holding next to her chest the black urn, she drew glances, tall and slim unaware of her ebony beauty, somehow defined by her grief, so much black against the white of her skin.  She passed her sister at the door, who gave her a wan smile and they held each other close for a moment; a moment too brief, Minerva felt, to provide any comfort to her sister – if any possible comfort could be provided right now.

'Thank you for coming, Sir,' Cecelia said, turning to Albus. 'We appreciate the honour it brings to our Des' memory to have you here.'

'No greater honour than that which already existed with your boy.   I met him once; he made me laugh,' said Albus, smiling that especially gentle smile he gave when the object of the smile was feeling fragile, emotionally unstable - yet managing to escape patronism because of his absolute sincerity.

'Will you be coming back to the house?  We'll be having some finger foods and nibbles given out by the house elves,' Cecelia asked of Minerva, who was staring at Albus.  He hadn't mentioned to her that he had met Des.

'Oh, of course, ah, Albus?'

'Yes, of course,' agreed Albus, helping an elderly lady down the front steps.  

'Minerva, shall we go?' 

'I should do it alone,' she said firmly, though her voice trembled.

'Perhaps if I stood a short distance away?'

Minerva looked at him, then nodded.  She was thankful in truth for his company, - she was not relishing this duty that Des had imposed upon her.  

~*~

The Scottish highlands are always windy.  It took only moments for those grey ashes, mere shadows of the young man who had once lived here, breathed this air, to lift up, to be pulled away, thrust up high, twisted and spread wide.  A sudden gust and those dark scraps were swept far away, indistinguishable from the breathtaking landscape lying out before her like a tablecloth laid out for show.  And though she tried she could no longer see what had remained of him - he was gone, truly gone this time, never coming back home.

And so, finally, she wept.  Standing alone by Old Oats, the wind whipping her robes around, clutching the cold cruel urn that spelt death, she cried; salty tears falling freely, dripping from her chin to be hurled carelessly forth by the wind.   

Only she wasn't alone, not quite, for some distance away a man whose long auburn beard and hair showed quite clearly the direction of the wind was watching, and when she turned around and the urn dropped from suddenly loose fingers, he apparated to her side.  Lifting her chin and seeing the tears still sliding down.  And there were no words to make false comfort, just his own tears to shed with hers and his arms to make the pain seem somehow less.

~*~

It was when they were setting out the flowers and many cards of condolences that her sister asked her frankly, but with an air of definite interest:  'So... Since when have you and Albus Dumbledore been a couple?'

Minerva could almost believe things were back to normal; her sister had always been an incurable gossip and a busy body.

'Never!' she replied, laughing.

'Minerva,' said Cecelia, actually smiling.  'The man can't take his eyes off you, every move he makes is carefully designed to be near you, to benefit you, to help you.  I've never seen a man more smitten, nor a woman.'

'Cecelia!' protested Minerva, now genuinely shocked.  'We're just friends!  He's here to support me, it's very ki... what do you mean 'nor a woman'?'

Her sister gave her a very definite 'look' and smirked, not unlike how she used to when they were kids and she knew something that Minerva didn't.

'He's much older than me, Ceci,' pointed out Minerva quietly, not looking at her sister but pushing a fern into a vase already full to bursting.

'He's a powerful man, I can't see age affecting him the same as normal wizards, Min.'

'I-'  began Minerva.

'If you love him – oh!  Hello, Professor Dumbledore.'  Cecelia coughed awkwardly.

'Hello.  Did I hear some sisterly advice then?'

'You did,' confirmed Cecelia looking uneasily at a panicky-looking Minerva who was shoving another fern into the same vase.

'Ah, so you've heard about Sendar,' said Albus, wincing.

'Who?' asked Cecelia blankly.  

'Oh I assumed... wrong apparently,' said Albus, surprised.

'Who is Sendar?' demanded Cecelia of her sister.  'I don't believe you, Minerva!  You're in love with one man and seeing another!' 

'Ceci!' Minerva groaned.  'Never mind her, Albus, she jumps to conclusions all the time.'

'Do I heck!' said Cecelia indignantly. 

'Cecelia,'  Minerva began - then couldn't think of anything to say.  Her sister looked at her shrewdly.  Her son's death had opened her eyes and made her older, wiser and sadder; she saw much more now.

'Make the most of the time you have,' said Cecelia sombrely.  

'I'm hardly about to d-d..' Minerva stopped, realising what she had just been about to say.

'No,' said Cecelia, tranquilly.  'But then, I wasn't talking to you.'

~*~*~*~

That January of the New Year was a frosty month.  Every morning the students and professors (as well as associated Ghosts, Elves, Poltergeists, Owls etc.) awoke to ice encrusted windows and crisp grass with spider webs stretched out everywhere looking as if they'd been showered in icing sugar.  Scarves and hats were worn almost continually, but some people were still seen smoking (literally) from their ears, having been doused by Madame Aldridge, the school nurse, with Pepper-Up potion.  The ghosts were to be heard to complain that it was so cold that if they didn't keep moving they froze solid, whilst the students used cold fingers as an excuse for no homework and Peeves had a little discussion with the Headmaster after throwing a solidified bucket of water over Professor Sendar and knocking the man out for several hours.

Minerva got caught standing one Sunday evening in early January, staring into space with one hand resting upon the heavy oak banister that carved down the marble steps into the foyer from the Great Hall, by Albus Dumbledore.  When he too, had asked what Minerva was thinking about she had rather sheepishly admitted that there was nothing more deep or insightful going on in her head than a secret desire to slide down the banister, something she had never managed to do during her time here as a student.  So, with much suppressed laughter and with Albus keeping an eye out for unwary professors or wondering students they had fulfilled her wish.  She had hitched up her skirt, slid backwards down the banister, and been safely caught by Albus.  Something for the two to share a smile about, and a memory to keep Minerva warm on the chilliest of days; for the unmerciful freeze continued on.

The severe temperatures existed both outside and inside the castle.  It was extremely hard to heat such a large and rambling castle as Hogwarts, especially since some places didn't always exist, moved or altered shape.  The Groundskeeper, Ogg and Hagrid, his apprentice, were run ragged, so at least _they _were warm.  

Despite it all, Minerva was happy, really so; teaching had become a rewarding (occasionally frustrating) pastime and she was truly in her element when she lectured on transfiguration.  She loved her home at Hogwarts and had made many dearly loved friends amongst the staff, most notably Albus, Gill Aldridge, Elise Horner and David Hawthorne.  Her duties as Head of Gryffindor were not at all odious; there was a lot of paperwork, but as Minerva approved of paperwork as she approved of covering all the details and organising things properly this was not a dreaded task for her - unlike David, whose paperwork inevitably ended up being used to repot plants on or recycled in the compost.  Which was all very well, as Dumbledore had commented at one staff meeting, to support the environment and help his venomous tarantaculas to grow big and strong; however it would, on occasion, be nice to have just _some paperwork in from their Herbology professor.  _

Yes, on the whole, and even on the little bittie quarters and sixteenths, Minerva was happy.  It seemed she had finally found her niche in society, the place where she belonged, and she was perfectly content to stay here for the rest of her working life - as she assured Albus one night over walnut cake and tea, and the timetable they were supposed to be working on.

They had already lined up a new Charms teacher;  Filius Flitwick, a tiny man, whom Sendar had raised a question about his being able to control the students due to his tiny stature.  However as Mr Flitwick had a 1.1 from Stonehenge, had worked in several countries, spent years in extensive research, was a jolly fellow and had been a Ravenclaw (Elise remembered him, and approved) it was decided to appoint him to the position that September.  Dumbledore had also found a middle aged man to be the Magical Creatures Professor, not too different from the current irascible, bad tempered man which of course everyone was terribly happy about.

This particular evening, as Minerva munched on her walnut cake, a thought occurred and she spoke it aloud to Albus.

'How is it that you always know what's going on, who's done what and why?'

'I'm a Legilimens, Minerva.  I should have thought you would already have guessed so.'

Minerva stared at him, blank horror expressed on her face.  For a moment her mind dropped off a cliff and hurtled towards certain death.

'You didn't know.'  Albus was astonished.

'Bloody hell,' said Minerva.  Albus raised an eyebrow; generally he didn't approve of profanity but it was always amusing to see his usually proper Transfiguration professor swear.  Even more amusing was to hear Elise, so very prim, swear when she did something she considered herself to be particularly dim-witted, or stub her toe.  

'No, I... didn't.'

'I don't go around rifling through people's minds, Minerva,' Albus assured her, giving a crumb to Fawkes, who was perched on the arm of Minerva's chair.

'No, only when you want to know something,' said Minerva.

'Well, yes,' agreed Albus, chuckling lightly.

'You don't see that as an invasion of privacy?' asked Minerva, casually;  but Albus Dumbledore wasn't known as brilliant for no reason, and yet he completely failed to notice anything wrong and answered honestly. ****

'Well no, I don't do it on a casual whim - well, not much, and they are none the wiser, even if they themselves are a legilimens.  An advantage of being a great sorcerer, I suppose!'

For a moment Minerva sat still and took in what he had just said.  When she felt that enough time had been left for him to add to it, or for her to find the hidden meaning, she left.

~*~

Five days later Albus Dumbledore caught up with Minerva in her classroom as she finished her teaching day by cleaning the black board, her room, normally full of seventh year Gryffindors, vacant at last.

'Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall,' he greeted her, shutting the door behind him as he entered.

'Good evening Headmaster,' said Minerva, continuing to clean her black board whilst industriously thinking _think nothing at all, nothing nothing nothing is on my mind, absolutely nothing._

'I get the feeling you're avoiding me Minerva,' said Albus, coming to stand right behind her.  She immediately whisked away and began closing windows, accidently dropping the black board cleaner out of one.

'Can I help you, Headmaster?' she asked, distinctly coolly, summoning back the cleaner with such vehemence that it shattered against her window sill.  Her aim was terrible, but she was slightly distracted, _think nothing, nothing, empty, white wall, blank._

'Minerva!' tut-tutted  Albus.  'What is wrong?'

'Absolutely nothing!' snapped Minerva, her eyes prickling, much to her horror; where was that righteous anger that had filled her a moment ago... was he messing with her head again?

'Minerva, for the last five days I've been lucky to catch you at the dinner table.  You sit so far away from me at staff meetings that you might as well not be there.   And if I bump into you in the corridor you suddenly have an urgent reason to be elsewhere.  Why are you avoiding me?' he demanded.

Minerva looked at him.  He didn't know.  How could he if she hadn't told him?   But she didn't want to tell him; to tell him that the idea of him peering into her mind unnerved her.  That there were things in her mind that he might have seen that mortified her to think he may have seen them, have known them.  It was not just the possible invasion of privacy, it was the terror, the shame and the fear that he might have seen how she... how she...   And that he might have laughed at it, or ridiculed her, or even worse, been flattered, as if she was a little girl with a crush.

'I'm _not_ a little girl,' she said aloud.

'That much I am aware of,' said Albus.  He attempted to perch on her desk, but his legs were so long it was really more of a leaning job.

'I'm sorry?' asked Minerva vaguely, not really aware that she had spoken aloud.

'I'm aware, Minerva, that you are a woman.'  It was funny really; that by actually saying it, he believed it; it came into being as truth.  And this time when he looked at her, he saw her; the curves not quite hidden by those voluminous robes, the shine of her soft hair pulled back into a tight bun.  The pointed chin and thin nose, those bright eyes and high brow.  That slender graceful neck, elegant pose and her inner poise.  All of it making one remarkable woman.  

It had only been five days of being ignored, but already he had missed her.  Had needed her, had wanted her.  He questioned his reasons for being here, now; for standing before her, and not telling her how beautiful she was.  How breathtaking, how stunning.  How in all your ninety two years you have never been in the presence of something so awing that your very heart leapt into your mouth, your blood ceased to pump around your body, your soul froze in an agony of esctasy, and that every moment with her was to be seized, like light to the dying, a cure to the old, like love to any one, every one, but most especially to him.

'I believe I might have noted it down on my application form,' said Minerva dryly.

'That is not quite how I meant it,' said Albus, his eyes fixed on hers.  He pushed away from the desk and toward her.

'Then-' said Minerva, her brow creased.  Albus stepped up to her; his blue gaze had not once wavered, he had not blinked yet.  

She stepped back suddenly, remembering the reason she wasn't happy with him.  'Albus, I hate the idea that you read people's minds whenever you please.  I hate the idea that you might be reading mine!' Minerva admitted, desperate to make that intense gaze waver just a little, so that she might remember how to breathe again.

'Minerva, I'm sorry.  I do not go around reading peoples minds willy-nilly, and I must apologise for giving you that impression.  Indeed, I have only ever had impressions from your mind.  I get the feeling it would be too tough a nut for me to crack!'  He smiled, but his eyes asked for her forgiveness, searchingly gazing into her own.

 Then something seemed to occur to him, and he paused.  'Why would you think I'm reading yours now?' he asked, both eyebrows raised creating lines upon lines on his forehead.  'What is in your mind, Minerva, that would make you think that what I'm doing and saying now is what you want.'

'What I'm _thinking, not what I want,' said Minerva sharply.  Then as she caught some tiny nuance in his movement she added, faintly, 'Necessarily.'_

'Then,' said Albus.  'Might I be allowed to make some assumptions?'

'Based on what?' asked Minerva.

'That I've been right so far.'

'So far in what?' she asked.  Then hushed dramatically as he stepped so close as to be mere inches apart, and she found she really couldn't breathe.

'How do you feel, Minerva?' he asked, and she had to tilt her head just a little bit, to look at him and reply.  Her chin brushed his beard, wiry but wonderfully soft; she could smell the soap he used and that smell, that wonderful smell that all men have, only in this case it was the best she had ever smelt.

'I feel... breathless,' she said, truthfully and gave a shaky laugh.

'Do you need some air?' he asked.

'I'd rather have this,' she said, and his eyes burned into her with an intensity that set off fireworks in her stomach and sizzled in her eyes for him to see.

'I rather admire muggles,' said Albus, rather bizarrely.  Minerva couldn't help a small ironic shake of her head.  'They have practices for such situations, safe, standard, life saving procedures.'

'Such situations... _this situation?'_

'Yes.'

'Oh, right...  Really?'

'Yes,' murmured Albus.  'It's called the Kiss of Life.'

Had he just said what Minerva thought he had said?  

'That doesn't sound very technical,' she pointed out.

'Oh it exists, trust me,' beamed Albus.

'I do,' said Minerva and the soft smile she gave him went straight to his heart and melted down those old cynical walls.

'It ah, it...,' Albus swallowed.  He was standing so close to this woman, but not touching her, and his whole _being _was yearning towards her.   'Why would I make up something like that, eh?'

'You tell me,' returned Minerva, a slightly teasing smile curving those soft lips.

'Minerva,' whispered Albus, seriously, almost sadly.  'I think... I've fallen -'

'Professor McGonagall!  Peeves is throwing dungbombs in the common room!'   The shout came from outside the room.  'Professor!'

'Duty calls,' said Minerva.

'Yes,' agreed Albus, stepping away from her, his face closing up again into that mask of ambivalence that was so pleasant, yet never so dear to Minerva as what she had just glimpsed.

'Wait,' she stopped him.  'What were you going to say?'

'Hmm?  Oh nothing, my dear, nothing,' he assured her.  They stood for a moment, in that classroom, still; then when no words spilt out from either of them and the pupil's voice became louder they flowed into movement - movement to get away, to get out.

~*~

Later, in a stink free common room, ensuring her charges were asleep and all present and accounted for, Minerva had this strange inexplicable sense of loss; as if the dice had rolled, chance had played and fate had destroyed, something, something that she might have had... yet hadn't quite managed...

Not yet...

~*~*~*~

Authors Notes: I am sorry this took so long, but it is a long chapter… forgive me?  J Please continue to review, I really enjoy reading them!

**Gigantic Review Thanks** go out to:

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	4. Chapter Four

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter! My apologies for the extremely long wait, I had serious writers block at several points, I hope it's worth the wait!

Warning!! _This is _not_ beta-ed my brilliant beta **Dicere** who has sadly been besieged by that horrible creature, RL (Not Remus Lupin -sadly), so any mistakes are the author's embarrassment, and have fun spotting them. I'd prefer it if you didn't, mind._

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts have been grafted from the books into my fanon world for a brief period of time, please don't sue me, I make no money, do not intend to and will do nothing but give endless praise to the genius of J K Rowling.

****

Nouveau

Chapter 4: _Not afraid to love_

Every day is a new day, so they say, but some days were old days, regurgitated to haunt you, made to go wrong, to exasperate and to irritate even the gentlest souls to rashness.

Some days students played her up so much she was tempted to hang the law and deal out some human transfiguration as punishment, some days she was really tempted to do something very horrible to her employer.

I mean, truly horrible, and if wasn't for the fact that she knew he (unfortunately) would easily outclass her, she probably would have.

It was the rainy season of March, with the occasional clinging frosts of spring and the occasional warmth and blue skies of the promised summer, if it wasn't doing either of those; it was raining, frequently and wetly. Yes she had discovered that there were many different types of rain; light teardrops that briefly caressed your face, heavy tropical drops fat and meandering, and torrential slashing rain that scissors down, with no mercy and no consideration for supposedly water-proof cloaks.

But there was something special about the rain in Scotland, and England for that matter, it was rain that made the skies slate grey, made the trees themselves droop with the sheer volume of water, the puddles depressing and the students sleepy and grumpy.

And Minerva achingly aware of how lonely she was.

Oh she was having a great time at Hogwarts, teaching was, well challenging right now but her colleagues were friendly, the food was excellent, she didn't have to do any cleaning (her particular bane), and she was, she was, desperately missing something.

Though as far as she was concerned, this particularly misery of hers was nothing more than sentimental rubbish, something she could do without, like the reason she was stood outside on the staff room balcony, currently wet, slimy and generally very unattractive.

There were some times in life where you made decisions that would effect the course of your life, that could make mockery of all those times you sat down and carefully thought out what you were going to do.

Some times that…

There was a flash of colour to her right and she turned quickly to see Fawkes perched on a rather disgruntled gargoyle's head. The brilliant bird gave a soft caw in welcome and held forth rather vicious looking talons holding a miniscule piece of paper, Minerva carefully extracted it, looking askance at the Phoenix's claws.

The note was on Albus Dumbledore's personal notepaper, _curious, _thought Minerva, and opened it.

Is our esteemed Head of Gryffindor intending to attend this evening's staff meeting? Her presence would be much appreciated.

A.D.

Bollocks thought Minerva, what with her all her mournful introspection, she had forgotten. She turned to dash out and slipped on the wet moss, she had a brief thought, _Damn I'm going to be late_, a briefer glimpse of the sky and her wind milling arms, then heard a strange and unpleasant cracking thud from a great distance, as red and gold blurred into a blackness so complete she lost herself.

* * *

'Minerva? Gil, I think she's coming around,' a man's voice, deep, worried.

'Minerva? How do you feel?'

Minerva McGonagall opened her eyes, blinked a few times and groaned her head was split in two, possibly her brains were leaking out.

'Drink this,' ordered Gil, calmly, handing her a small purple potion bottle. 'You cracked your skull Min.'

'Don't call me Min,' she managed, struggling to sit up.

'What in the heavens happened, Minerva?' Albus stepped forward, his forehead was creased, and he looked angry.

'I don't want to talk about it,' scowled Minerva, grimacing at the bitter and gritty taste of the potion. Gil left the cubicle, and Albus, seeing she had gone stepped forward, he looked livid.

'You don't want to talk about it! Have you _any_ idea… what the _hell_, Minerva, you will explain directly!'

'I slipped, Albus, okay? Can we not spread it around the faculty please?' snapped Minerva, somewhat irritated by his attitude.

'You slipped!'

'Bloody moss,' muttered Minerva.

'What were you doing out there?' Albus asked, running a shaky hand through his hair, something she had never seen him do before.

'Thinking,' said Minerva shortly, feeling like a complete ass.

'Thinking?' hissed Albus. 'Then that's it, I ban you from thinking ever again- obviously it's too dangerous for your health!'

Minerva looked at him, shocked, and then smiled, it had just occurred to her that possibly Albus had been worried about her.

'Yes I was worried,' said Albus, grimly, but a faint smile unwillingly appeared.

'I'm fine,' she pointed out, her head was no longer registering 8.0 on the Richter scale.

'You just slipped,' said Albus, he shook his head wryly. 'My Minerva, you really do make my life hell sometimes.'

'What?' asked Minerva, astounded.

Albus ignored her, 'foolish woman,' he said as he stepped up to her and surprised her by wrapping his arms around her, for a moment he squeezed her and she was too taken aback to respond.

'Rest up,' he ordered, withdrawing with his usual twinkle back in place, 'and buy some Phoenix treats for Fawkes- he saved your life.' And left.

Gil popped in and waved her wand over Minerva checking her temperature and the healing of her skull, 'He found you,' she told Minerva.

'Albus?'

'The Headmaster, yes,' Gil grinned and then it disappeared. 'Lying in a pool of blood and completely unconscious, when Fawkes arrived, he left so fast he knocked his chair over, I've never seen him so pale.'

'Well…' said Minerva awkwardly.

'Carried you in his arms all the way up to the hospital wing, refused to leave your side,' added Gil, conversationally.

'I must remember to thank him,' said Minerva.

'Mmm,' said Gil. 'Are you two having an affair?'

Minerva blinked, 'What? No! Gil!'

Gil Aldridge gave her a very strict no-nonsense glare.

'I'm, WE'RE _not _having an affair!' reiterated Minerva, shocked.

'Good, because I fully expect to know when you start having one,' said Gil calmly.

'Thank you,' said Minerva, her head still spinning. Gil left, a smile on her face that was far too knowing. 'No, wait!' cried Minerva. 'We are not going to have an affair!'

'I believe you,' called back Gil, but the chuckles belied her comment.

* * *

Minerva, head intact, and seven days healed from the incident on the balcony, and with a rather smelly (and expensive) bag in hand, stood in front of the gremlin that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office and quarters.

'Balcony bother,' she said sourly, this was Albus' idea of a little joke, she stepped onto the revolving stairs and found herself laughing.

When she opened the door, Albus was behind his desk, surrounded by towers of paperwork and looking somewhat frazzled, Fawkes trilled a happy note as he saw her enter, and Albus said, 'How may I help you,' without even glancing up, looking distinctly unhappy at being interrupted.

'Actually,' smiled Minerva, 'I came to see Fawkes.'

'Minerva McGonagall!' said Albus Dumbledore, standing, he looked very tired, Minerva looked him over critically, making the tall man smile.

'I think that's enough for today,' she said, and waved her wand in a long sweeping movement, the papers disappeared, Albus looked somewhat concerned and Fawkes trilled another happy note.

'Minerva, that has to be done..' he protested.

'Not tonight. Tonight you have a date.'

'I do?' he looked a little bemused.

'With me,' finished Minerva. 'When was the last time you combed that wild mass of fur that used to be your hair?'

Albus looked at his beard, 'Ah,' he said, vaguely.

'And I watched you at dinner tonight, you barely touched your meal.'

'Did I?'

'No you didn't, that's my point.'

'I love you,' said Albus, the lines were gone from his forehead.

'And I love you too,' said Minerva, and smiled at him. 'But not in yesterday's robes, last weeks hair and a body that frankly, was skinny enough to begin with, right now you're a clothes hanger, Albus.'

'Why, thank you for your frank appraisal, Minerva, I feel so much more confident,' Albus said, tongue-in-cheek.

'Sit,' she ordered, pointing to his wing backed chair by the fire. He sat obediently. Minerva clapped her hands and a house elf winked into existence. 'I want some tea for two; hot, buttered crumpets, jam and honey, fruitcake and a pot of Earl Grey, please,' she ordered crisply, the elf bowed and left immediately.

'First, where is your hair brush Albus?' she asked, Albus opened his mouth and then thought better of it, he held out his hand and his brush appeared on it. Minerva took it and frowned at his head:

'I'm going to brush your hair,' she told him. 'Turn your head please.'

'Please feel free to commandeer my life as your own,' said Albus.

'Thank you,' said Minerva, and perched on the edge of his chair, he could smell her perfume.

'Lavender,' he identified it, without meaning to.

'What?' she asked, beginning to tackle the ends of his hair with the help of a de-entanglement charm.

'Ah, nothing,' he caught himself.

Five minutes passed as Minerva gently teased the brush through his hair and Albus relaxed quietly.

'My perfume,' she realised suddenly.

'Yes,' agreed Albus.

'You noticed my perfume?'

'I always do,' Albus admitted, realising as he did so that he should not have, the brush had stilled.

'Why?' asked Minerva cautiously.

'Why not?' he bantered.

'That's not an answer,' Minerva said, Gil's assumptions were fresh in her mind.

'No, Minerva it is not,' said Albus, with authority.

'Dumbledore..' Minerva began, annoyed.

'Spit fire,' teased Albus.

'I am not!' she said fiercely. He laughed merrily and Minerva hit him around the head with the hairbrush, there was an audible 'thwack'.

'Ye-ouch!' he winced.

'Oh oh… ouch! I forgot I had the brush in my hand! Albus are you okay? Merlin you're going to have a bruise!' Minerva anxiously took a hold of his head and gently explored the area where the brush had hit.

'Minerva my dear, it will be fine,' Albus captured her hands in his own and smiled reassuringly up at her.

She looked at him for a moment, 'What a yellabella,' she teased.

'I beg your pardon!' disagreed Albus, and glaring, he grasped her around the waist and pulled her into his lap. He had been intending to tickle her, or some such foolery but with her in his lap there were suddenly other things on his mind. And silence between them. His hands spanning her small waist and her hands gripping his shoulders for balance as he had pulled her, remained. There wasn't enough space between them, their eyes were locked and the tension was becoming unbearable.

'We make excellent friends,' said Albus, hoarsely.

'Yes, we do,' said Minerva, but her hand reached up to wander his face.

'Despite our age differences,' he spoke again. Minerva withdrew her hand, she knew a dismissal when she heard one. She handed him the brush.

'Do your beard, old man,' she said lightly. There was a rattle behind her and she turned to see the tea things, she moved to set them out, and Albus combed his beard tidy.

'Did you come to see Fawkes?' Dumbledore asked, remembering.

'Oh yes, I bought him some gourmet Phoenix treats, as a thank you for saving my life,' Minerva waved her hand to his desk where she had left the bag, and was amused to see Fawkes pecking a hole in the bag.

'I wasn't being serious when I said that,' said Albus, astonished.

'I was when I bought it,' said Minerva.

'I'm sure he'll appreciate them,' said Albus.

'He already is,' laughed Minerva, as the multicoloured grain poured out all over the Headmaster desk and off onto the floor and Fawkes hopped around trying to eat it.

'Oh dear,' said Albus, Minerva looked at him, an eyebrow raised, 'It stains,' he explained with a pained expression on his face. 'Last year I bought him a years worth, I had a coupon from the makers, and he pecked a hole in the bottom of the bag, an entire years worth of the stuff poured onto the floor and not only did I have a fat phoenix, but I also had a florescent pink floor, not a very academic colour for a new headmaster. I warned him if it happened again I'd exchange him for a headless chicken, it would probably cause less damage, but I don't think I convinced him. Besides, I'm not quite sure that he's the pet.'

Minerva chuckled. 'Don't worry,' she said, 'you could always pluck him and make a nice rug to cover it up.'

'True.'

'I'll still lo-like you if you have a blindingly pink floor.'

Albus had not missed her slip. 'I'll remember,' he said, but the conversation fell flat after that, each preoccupied with their thoughts.

* * *

The last Saturday of March dawned surprisingly clear, the clouds hovered menacingly in the distance but the astronomy Professor, Antonia Aquitaine declared that she thought the weather would hold for the Quidditch match, much to the relief of the Professors present, sitting in the rain watching Quidditch was a devilishly unpleasant prospect, though the students didn't seem to mind, or even notice. Minerva was seated at the High Table next to Elise and George, the flying instructor, of whom she had come to realise she would miss very much when he left to fly professionally.

'This is my last match,' he told her, pouring syrup liberally on his porridge, much to Minerva's horror, who preferred hers with milk and just a little sugar.

'Really?' she said rhetorically. 'Feeling sad?'

'I wouldn't admit this to anyone else, Minerva,' George said, leaning closer, 'but I'm going to start weeping into my porridge any moment now.'

Minerva laughed and then curbed it, 'Oh Georgie,' she said sadly. 'I'm going to miss your humour.'

'And I shall miss your pretty face,' he grinned. 'No, don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to 'walk out' with me. I hear you've had more than enough of that from Sendar.'

'How do you-? Does everyone know?' despaired Minerva, shaking her head, not sure whether to feel ashamed or amused.

'Yes,' said George candidly. 'But we all love you for it.'

'Love me for… what?'

'Getting rid of Sendar for us.. Well, them, I'm leaving of course.'

'Getting rid of?' asked Minerva confused, her porridge cooling.

'He's leaving,' said George. 'Didn't you know? Next year- no Michaelmas, and new deputy Headteacher,' he looked at her suggestively but Minerva didn't notice.

'He's leaving?'

'You almost sound … disappointed,' said George, raising an eyebrow.

'Merlin no!' exclaimed Minerva. 'I just didn't think he would actually do it… I, well I'm pleasantly surprised.' She smiled and didn't voice the thought that was floating around in her head, _Is it me? Is it my fault?_

'I have to go chivvy the house teams,' said George, standing.

'Mm,' said Minerva vaguely, she jumped when George slapped a hand on her shoulder, nearly dislocating it.

'Cheer up Minny Baby.'

She turned around to curse him but he had disappeared behind one of the house tapestries that concealed tunnels.

'Only because you're leaving, George,' she muttered under her breath.

George Hall's vacated seat showed the Headmaster at his usual ornate seat, he noticed her glance his way and his twinkling blue eyes smiled across at her as he inclined his head in a morning greeting. She smiled back politely, then remembered her porridge as a good excuse to turn away from Albus, she picked up her spoon again and then dropped it, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain was jogging up to her place, with an expression that could only spell disaster.

'Professor, Maddy's broom's stuck in reverse!'

'What?'

'It won't go in any direction but backwards, Professor!' Eliot looked frantic. 'The match is in 15 minutes Professor!'

'I'm aware of that Mr Eliot,' remarked Minerva wryly, she pushed her porridge away with an inaudible sigh, it looked like she wouldn't be having any breakfast this morning. 'Let us see what I can do,' she said, confidently, Eliot looked like he could hug her.

It was a grimmer situation when they arrived at the changing rooms though, Maddy Mougal was practically in tears over her broom which was malfunctioning and Minerva realised she wouldn't be able to fix it in time for the match. When she admitted this to the team their faces were a picture of despair and sorrow, having lost so badly to Slytherin they had been hoping to smash Ravenclaw, as they had already wiped the floor with Hufflepuff and give Slytherin a run for the cup, everything had rested with this one match.

'I can fly with a school broom,' said Maddy, the team groaned, school brooms were so ancient they could barely get more than two feet off the ground, Maddy subsided, gloomily.

Minerva frowned for a moment, as Head of Gryffindor she had a very healthy desire that they play, 'Oh!' she cried.

'What is it Professor?' asked Eliot, hopefully, Minerva looked at the rest of the team faces uplifted to hers, she beamed. 'You can use my broom Maddy!'

'Yours?' said Maddy, surprised.

'Yes, I'd forgotten I still had it, from my Auror days. I shall bring it directly.'

'Um,' said Eliot, looking as if he very much didn't want to offend. 'What make is it, Professor?'

Minerva McGonagall barely resisted a laugh, 'Thank you Mr Eliot, I'm not over the hill yet, it's a Silver Star.'

'A Silver Star!' he whispered, in awe.

'Mark Four,' she added, enjoying the stunned looks on their faces. 'I shall go and dig it out, expect a house elf to appear with it in a moment, team.'

'Thank you, Professor!' grinned Maddy, fervently.

'Win the game team, I'll be rooting for you, discreetly of course,' she shared a smile with them, winked and left at a quick pace for the castle.

It didn't take her long to dig it out, and a house elf was happy to oblige and snap to the field immediately with the broom.

She left her rooms in a rush, eager to see Maddy flying her broom and Gryffindor play, didn't look as she turned the corner into the main corridor and walked straight into Albus Dumbledore. Collided would be more apt, he had been striding along also, carrying a large piece of black marble carefully in his hands. 'Ohhh!' cried Minerva, eyes wide, arms flailing.

They fell backwards, the marble went flying, and Minerva fell in the same direction, Albus Dumbledore, falling backwards against the stone wall, managed to wrap his arms around Minerva and pull her against him so that she didn't fall down the stairs with the marble.

'Ooof!' he yelped as his back whacked the wall, and Minerva's weight on him grated his back bone unpleasantly on the rock.

The marble fell in a long arc down the flight of stairs, and Minerva found her feet enough to watch in slow motion as it hit the landing below and shattered into millions of sharp fragments. Her mouth formed a silent O of horror, _that could have been me_ she realised in shock and closing her eyes turned her head into Albus Dumbledore's shoulder, her hands gripping the material of his robes tightly as she hid her head in his familiar presence.

After a moment she came back to herself enough to realise that she was far too close to Albus, and even as she realised that her mind processed the fact that his head was resting against hers, his arms holding her firm against his body. His hard, lean body, his laundry fresh robes, a slight hint of the musty old books he spent so much time pouring over, his soap, a herb she couldn't quite identify, and she didn't want to let go of him, move away, she had never wanted anything more in her life than to stay here, in the arms of a man she could never have.

And even as she thought this, she found the strength, the pride, to move away from him.

'I am so sorry,' she apologised, and gestured towards his destroyed marble.

'Rather Sir Sinuanes nose than you, my dear,' said Albus, quite seriously, then smiled. 'You do seem to be quite clumsy lately, Minerva.'

She couldn't find it in her to glare, there was a feeling inside of her that made her feel almost buoyant, 'Must be nearly 'that time of the month',' she chuckled at herself.

'Sorry?' said Albus, looking befuddled. Minerva glanced at him, sceptically, he couldn't possibly be that ignorant, this was male territory, they liked to call everything women did that they didn't like, PMT.

'You _do _know what I mean, Albus.'

'Minerva, you mystify me,' he said, waving his wand and restoring Sir Sinuanes nose to its former glory.

'Albus… you're pulling my leg, surely? PMT…?' she looked at him, disbelievingly.

He looked at her, his expression completely straight. 'What is this PMT?' he asked.

She couldn't believe it; 'I really don't want to have this discussion with you, _Headmaster_.'

'You are not embarrassed are you Minerva?' he said, teasingly, a smile twitching his lips.

'You _do_ know!' she gave him a look that would have wilted hardier specimens.

'Mmm,' hummed the Headmaster. 'But you are going to have to be willing to discuss it Minerva. You're Head of Gryffindor, roughly half of which are adolescent girls who are away from home.'

'Nobody's come to me yet,' said Minerva, faintly astonished that she hadn't thought of this before.

'Most go to the school nurse,' said Albus. 'So I'm told. Perhaps you ought to be more aware of the girls around that age.'

'Have I done something wrong?' asked Minerva, worried.

'No, no, but you have no idea what it was like being the Head of Gryffindor for me. There was this one particular time the school nurse was away and a second year girl came to my office, very embarrassed and…'

They walked down to the Quidditch pitch together, chatting amiably and although Gryffindor won the game with a spectacular score that had them beat Slytherin to take the Quidditch cup for the first time in six years, Minerva could not honestly say she remembered much of the match at all. Her heart and mind were full of a tall powerful man with gentle hands and a rich deep laugh, a man whose blue eyes ensnared her own repeatedly throughout the match. Albus Dumbledore had stolen her heart, but she wasn't ready to admit it yet, admitting it meant facing it, and facing it meant realising she was in love with a man who would never return her affections.

* * *

The laughter was so loud the windows rattled.

'Oh, I have that beat!' said George Hall, holding up a hand. The laughter calmed and the twenty-two Professors looked expectedly at the departing flying instructor, it was George's leaving party and the Hogwarts staff had annexed The Three Broomsticks and were rapidly depleting Rosmerta's alcohol supplies. 'I have a friend who tutors kids privately before they come to Hogwarts, and he had this ten year old kid once who wrote…' George choked on a snort of laughter, 'for his science project on the beginning of the world,' he stopped again, red cheeked.

'Oh come _on_ George!' said the Astronomy Professor Antonia Aquitaine, impatiently.

'Hmm,' George cleared his throat. 'Okay, here it is, and I quote what the kid actually wrote, "The world began millions of years ago with little orgasms crawling around on it"!'

There were snorts of laughter and some comments that mostly owned to the alcohol intaken by those individuals.

'Highly unlikely,' said Gil, 'or else we're incredibly short now.'

There was more raucous laughter, until Queenie Shimault, the Ancient Runes Professor spoke up, waving her hands for attention.

'This one's a gem!' she proclaimed boldly her shock of white hair very disarranged. '"Ancient Egypt was inhabited by Mummies who wrote in hydraulics."'

'Nooo!' cried everyone, 'Who wrote that?'

'I'm not telling!' Shimault said. 'But they also mentioned later that same year that "The Greeks were lazy people because they worshipped idles"!'

The mirth this time took a while to abate and longer still for everyone to catch their breath.

David Hawthorne stood up, lifting his tumbler of fire whisky high. 'Georgie,' he said.

'Oooer it's a speech,' grinned Gil.

'Oh Merlin, no, stop him some one please!' wailed George, looking embarrassed.

'No way-far too entertaining,' grinned Sendar.

'Georgie,' David began again, glaring at everyone talking. 'This is to you, you lucky bugger, off to success and money, women and free drinks. We won't miss ya-' the seated booed David who made a face and went on reluctantly. 'Oh well, all right, we will miss you.'

'Speak for yourself,' said Sendar.

'You're a good guy, decent, honest and hardworking, you'll always be welcome in the Hogwarts Staff Room Georgie, providing you bring enough girls for all of us,' David continued loudly.

'Some of us here are women,' said Elise, sharply.

'Oh right,' said David noticing. 'Bring some quidditch jocks then too, all right mate?'

'Hawthorne!' snapped Elise, but with no real bite. Minerva laughed, Gil was leaning against Marcus, looking entirely too comfortable, the tables they had pushed together were littered with empty drink glasses and the sky was black through the windows, it must be late, thought Minerva vaguely, pushing a cherry around the bottom of her empty glass.

George Hall stood up, raising his own pint glass up. 'To the best group of people I have ever had the privilege of knowing, thank you for coming tonight, and for a superb send-off!'

He was cheered, and he bowed. 'To Quidditch!' he cried and everyone drank to it.

'To George!' said Minerva, standing and collecting a fresh drink from an exhausted attendant.

'To George!' everyone echoed, and slurped. It was the beginning of many toasts.

Somewhat later people were making their way home; Gil had disappeared with Marcus, who probably didn't have a clue what he was getting himself into. Elise was taking a room at the pub but David and Minerva despite being rather inebriated decided they could find their own way home. It went well until some how they ended up in one of his greenhouses.

'Ach,' said David, 'I know my greenhouses better than my rooms.'

'Well I don't!' said Minerva.

'Stay with me?' he asked.

'I can't,' she said.

'Why not?' he asked. 'You're a beautiful and intelligent woman and I rather like you.'

Oh, thought Minerva, _I'm so horribly drunk. _'I..' she stopped. 'I'm in love with some one else.'

'Lucky man,' David said, but he smiled quite happily as he showed Minerva the floo connection to the staff room.

* * *

Cecelia Murray gave her sister a very stern look over the rim of her glass of red chateau.

'No!' said Minerva, frowning.

'You _are_ Minerva, and you know it!'

'Don't be absurd!' hissed Minerva, face glowing.

'I knew there was a reason you weren't married yet.'

'Ceci!' protested Minerva.

'Compulsive flirt,' said Cecelia calmly.

'I am not!' retorted Minerva, insulted.

'Oh you may not realise it- but you do.'

'If I don't realise it- how can it be called flirting, Ceci? You're talking nonsense!'

'Are you in love?'

'What? With whom?' Minerva stuttered, her sister gave her a scathing look. 'No, of course I'm, I'm… this is completely pointless. There's nothing there, nothing, it's just..'

'Just something,' insisted Minerva's older (and married) sister.

'Do I need to be here for this conversation to take place?' asked Winston Murray mildly, the two sisters ignored him as they glared at each other across the table.

'What do you say Winston?' his wife asked him, finally deigning to notice his presence.

'Me?' Winston looked somewhat alarmed at this sudden interest in his opinion. 'I'm not sure I have the devil of an idea what you two are on about!' Minerva sighed with relief. 'But I would say -invite him to dinner, Minerva and then we shall see for ourselves how he treats you.'

'He treats me very well already- as he does all women,' said Minerva. 'He has no particular interest in _me_.'

'Invite him to dinner - I like that!' said Cecelia. 'Let's do it!'

'Oh no,' said Minerva faintly.

'The girl should ask him herself,' said Winston to his wife.

'Girl?' protested Minerva, slightly incredulously; she was blanked by her scheming relatives.

'You think? And should we make it formal, and invite everyone, for a banquet?'

'Jiminy Cricket no! This should be an informal, intimate meal, family only sort of thing, it's a big deal for a man to turn up at a family do with the single girlet.' Winston smoothed his dark moustache. 'Let's invite old Aunt Gertie, and my brother too, might as well make it a properly family do.'

'Yes!' agreed Cecelia, excited. 'Family and assorted in-laws, or couples.'

'Not too big,' reminded Winston, cautioning his enthusiastic wife.

'Help!' moaned Minerva and put her head in her hands.

'Should we have it here or at the hall?' asked Ceci.

'Oh here! Far more familiar,' Winston decided quickly.

'Evening meal or daytime? Do we want your brothers children?'

'Hmmm, yes I think so, after all, we might as well make it as intimidating as we can for the man,' Winston grinned, looking over at Minerva's bowed head.

'He might say no,' said Minerva, fatalistically, looking up.

'He won't,' agreed both Cecelia and Winston simultaneously.

'This seems a bit over the top- just to see if he's the slightest bit interested!'

'We needed a family gathering anyway,' said Cecelia, smiling.

'You can owe me gardening time,' said Winston. 'That ruddy venomous crawler!'

Minerva laughed.

'Oh god,' she suddenly said, looking pathetic, 'what if he says no?'

* * *

'No,' said Albus Dumbledore firmly.

'Oh come on Dumbledore!' said Sendar. 'It's an educational trip.'

'It is a waste of school resources and its only value is entertainment, and not particularly high brow entertainment at that.'

Sendar made a vague noise of disgust and snapped his pencil in two; Elise cast an amused glance over to Minerva who returned it discreetly.

'I believe that is all for today,' said Albus. 'Unless there is anything you would like to bring up?' he glanced around and received negative responses. 'Excellent,' he beamed. 'Then Good Evening Professors.'

They left and Minerva lingered, a lump the size of a Quaffle in her throat.

'Hello Professor McGonagall, something on your mind?' Dumbledore asked, when they were alone.

'This is personal Albus,' she said, he immediately looked serious.

'Nothing wrong I hope, Minerva?'

'Oh Merlin, no, I just wanted to, ask you, something,' she rearranged the folds of her cloak, trying to find the courage to ask something she wasn't sure about herself.

'Which was?' he prompted, a quizzical look on his face.

'My sister has organised one of those annual family get-togethers, and being family I'm invited but ah.. I was wondering,' Minerva paused, he was going to say no, he'd made it perfectly clear he thought she was too young for him. 'It's just that we can bring someone with us if we like..' Albus had paused in tidying some quills, Minerva lifted her chin, well so what if he said no, she had the bravery to ask. 'Would you care to come with me?'

'Is this not just for family relations?' Albus said quietly.

'Well, yes,' said Minerva, running after her flagging courage, dear Merlin she needed to work on it's stamina. 'But also their respective… their respect … their people,' she finished lamely.

'Their people?' Albus asked, his eyes glinted as he faced her, his long auburn beard was brushed smooth, she had to look up when he stood straight he was that tall.

'I, well, yes,' she stammered, wanting to curl up and die.

'You're asking me to come as …?' he trailed off; she could not meet his eyes.

'I'm asking you to come as my friend,' she said.

'Friends are allowed at this family gathering?'

'No,' she said, _Damned if I do and damned if I don't_ she thought. 'No, they're not. If I weren't so sure you'd say no Albus, I would ask you to come as my date,' and Minerva looked straight into his summer sky blue eyes, defiantly.

'You're asking me, on a date?' he asked incredulously.

'Well no, not really Albus, it's a family gathering, they'll be children and old Aunts and other scary creatures, and food…'

'What is this then?' he asked.

'Well I don't know, Albus!' snapped Minerva, suddenly furious, her eyes prickling. 'Maybe it's just my way of seeing whether you might be interested in _dating_, maybe it's my way of seeing how much bastard there is in you, maybe, _maybe_, it's my way to try, to try and stop falling in love with you!' She turned away from him, her skirts brushed the floor, it was pink, she covered her face with her hands, as realisation of what she had just admitted crashed in upon her.

'_Minerva,' _she heard him say.

'Just forget it, Albus,' she said, anger hiding her embarrassment.

'How can I?' he asked reasonably, he sounded irritatingly normal.

'Forget it!' Minerva shouted. 'God damn you to hell, you're all the same, men, just bastards the lot of you and I'm sorry I said a thing, I'm-'

'I'd love to come,' Albus interrupted her bitter tirade forcefully and she stopped mid-sentence.

'Wh-what?' she wished she had the courage to turn around and look at him, but she was still too afraid that yet again, she had been foolish enough to give her heart to a man who didn't want it.

'Please Minerva, if the offer is still open, I would like to accompany you to your family reunion.'

'You, you would?' Minerva swallowed and tried to remember which way was up.

'Yes,' he said, and his voice sounded from right behind her. 'I would really like to come, my Minerva. My Minerva…' he said her name like that twice and she could not repress the shiver that ran down her back. Something brushed against her back and she realised it was his robes, her bun, still slightly lopsided from the rigours of the day's teaching had released some strands of her hair and she jumped when his hand reached up from behind to sweep them behind her ear. 'May I?' he asked, quietly, and his breath brushed her ear, hot, and her cheeks flushed in response, she took a deep steadying breath.

'Yes,' she said and closed her eyes when his hands took gentle hold of her shoulders and his head rested alongside hers. 'Albus,' she murmured, softly, as something welled up inside her and she realised with a shock that it was happiness of an intensity she had never felt before.

'Minerva,' he responded, and his cheek was against hers, scratchy with its long beard, his thumbs moved in comforting circles on her arms.

How long they stayed like that, Minerva could not say, just that it felt like an eternity, and a millisecond, a paradox of feelings, her whole being suffused with a warmth that lit her soul up like the sun and gave her life laughter.

When she opened her eyes again, and shifted a little, already regretting it, Albus took a breath, a sigh left him slowly, regretfully he stood straight and slid his hands down her arms before lifting them away from her slimness.

'It's on Saturday,' Minerva managed, and swallowing, turned around, all of a sudden extremely shy. They had just shared something wonderfully intimate, yet they had barely touched, how would he feel about it?

'Should I bring anything?' he asked her, and his eyes glittered brightly, he looked like a song was about to burst from his lips, she was relieved.

'I.. Like what?'

'Apple pie, sweets…'

'Oh,' she said. 'I don't think so, no, I shouldn't think so. But now you've reminded me, I had better ask if I'm supposed to bring something.'

'_We're,_' he corrected her.

'We're, what?' she asked, confused.

'If _we're _supposed to bring something,' said Albus, his blue eyes were brilliant on hers.

Minerva couldn't say anything, the breath had left her body in a rush, she opened her mouth and then closed it again. 'Oh,' she said finally, and then a smile such as Albus had never seen before lit up her entire face, dimmed everything Albus had ever known before and left no shadows in it's wake. He recognised it then as one of the happiest moments of his life.

'I had better go and tell Ceci I'm bringing someone,' Minerva said, that smile still on her face.

'Yes,' agreed Albus. 'It will be okay, for me to turn up at the Murray Manor?'

'Oh I should think so, once they get over the shock,' said Minerva, with a completely straight face.

'Good,' said Albus, relieved. 'I can't wait to meet all your family.'

Minerva's eyes widened in horror, 'Oh no,' she wailed. 'Aunt Maud Elaine!!'

'Aunt Maudlin?' Albus asked, an eyebrow quirked.

'I didn't think you'd actually say yes!' complained Minerva, looking panicked, Albus laughed. 'I really wouldn't laugh,' frowned Minerva. 'Since _you're_ the one she'll be attacking!'

'Old battle-axe maiden aunt?' he enquired, still looking amused.

'No,' corrected Minerva. 'She been married 12 times, and is 187 years old.'

'I'm sure I'll win her over,' smiled Albus, unworried.

'Don't say I didn't warn you,' said Minerva, and left him, looking worried.

When Minerva got back to her quarters, an unusually large smile on her face (that had unnerved quite a few students in the corridors), she immediately made a beeline for her fireplace and threw some floo power in.

'Cecelia McGonagall-Murray,' she called loudly, sticking her head into the green flames, her head felt like it was stretched unhealthily far as it sped to her sister's grate. A moment later the ashes settled and she could see the clawed feet of Winston's favourite armchair, a pair of tartan slippers were propped up on the footstool, legs attached.

'Good evening, Minerva,' said Winston, bending down to look at her face wobbling in the fire.

'Good evening, Winston,' she grinned.

'Your sister has been waiting for you to call all this week,' he said. 'She was just starting to get mad.'

'I'm glad I called then.'

'Cecelia!' Winston called loudly, there was no reply, Minerva's brother-in-law waggled a bushy eyebrow. 'Buffers, old chap!'

A snap and a crack and the old house-elf appeared, impeccably attired, 'Tell Milady that her sister calls, would you?'

'Certainly M'Lord,' obeyed the elf, and disappeared again.

Minerva's knees were aching by the time her sister arrived.

'I was in the green house,' Cecelia explained and dropped to her knees in front of the fireplace. 'You've taken your sweet time getting back to us, what did he say then, you have asked him, oh you have, haven't you? Tell me everything! Absolutely everything!'

'Did you want to speak to me?' asked Minerva, acerbically, 'Or address a sponge?'

Winston smirked in the background, safely behind his wife's back. Cecelia glared. 'Well?' she demanded, ignoring Minerva's comment.

'Why, Ceci, I didn't know you cared! Yes I'm well, thank you,' Minerva smiled beatifically. Her sister fumed.

'Unless you wish me to reach into the fire and strangle you Minerva…' Cecelia warned, Minerva laughed. 'What did he say, Minerva?'

'He said yes,' she told her older sister.

'Well, we knew he would,' said Ceci, straightening her skirt and looking smugly pleased.

'Who could resist our dear Minerva,' said Winston, his wife cast him look that was acidly McGonagall classic.

'Remember which sister you're married to Winston,' Cecelia said.

'I have only ever had eyes for one woman,' Winston said seriously, reaching across to cup his wife's face, Minerva watched mutely, Winston was good for Cecelia who had tended to be an abrasive, suspicious person before she fell in love with a man two decades her senior.

'_Anyway,_' she said loudly after a pause, to remind her relatives her head was still in the fire.

'Oh yes,' said Ceci turning away from her husband. 'So what happened, when did you tell him, how did he respond… ohhh did you kiss?'

'Ceci we did not! I asked him after the staff meeting just now,' Minerva couldn't help another grin spreading across her face.

'You're smiling an awful lot for a woman who _hasn't _just been kissed,' pointed out Ceci suspiciously.

'I'll be in the kitchen,' said Winston with a sigh, folding up his paper and getting to his feet.

'You will not!' forbade Cecelia. 'Buffers and Colly spoil you atrociously and you know what the doctor said about your cholesterol.'

'In that case I'll be in the conservatory,' said Winston, sighing again, but he kissed his wife before he left. 'I look forward to seeing your chap on Saturday, Minerva,' he added.

'He's not 'my chap',' said Minerva quickly, but Winston had gone.

'Of course he is,' said Ceci brusquely. 'Now… what did he say?'

'He said yes, I told you already, Ceci.'

'But you're missing out all the juicy details!' complained her sister.

'Yes, because I know very well that not one iota of what I will say will remain between you and me!'

'Minerva!' said Ceci looking shocked. 'I would never betray a confidence.'

Minerva gave her sister a no-nonsense look, and relented, a little. 'He called me 'My Minerva'.'

'My Minerva?' asked Cecie, sceptically.

'Yes,' said Minerva, smiling at the memory.

'Doesn't seem very out of the ordinary,' frowned Ceci, looking disappointed at the lack of juicy material for gossip.

'Ceci, from his lips, I can assure you it was very special.'

'I believe you,' said Cecelia quietly. 'I'm glad he said yes, Minerva, you deserve this.'

Thrown slightly off-guard Minerva could only nod.

'He had better treat you well.'

'I'm sure he will,' said Minerva. 'Oh, should we bring something?'

'Something? Like what? 'We', already?' asked Ceci, eyebrows raised.

'He suggested it, and yes 'something' like nibbles, flowers…'

'No! This isn't WI meeting! We are quite capable of taking care of things here,' Cecelia looked horrified at the very idea.

'I'll take that as a 'thank you but that will be okay'.'

'You do that,' snapped her sister.

'I'm leaving, my knees are beginning to burn,' said Minerva, rolling her eyes in the face of her sister's appalled aristocratic visage.

'Go then, and wear something nice… oh and Winston's brother Rufus can make it, _with _the eight children so don't say you haven't been warned.'

'Duly warned, I'll bring the riot gear,' laughed Minerva, and pulled her head from the fire before her sister could keep her there any longer.

* * *

Saturday dawned bright and clear, quite pleasant indeed for the beginning of April in Scotland, the sun had peeked out from behind the bank of clouds from where it had resided since last September, it looked as if the weather smiled on The McGonagall-Murray family reunion.

The sun shone a faint ray of light through Minerva's bedroom window where she was stood in front of a full-length mirror, adjusting a set of deep blue robes nervously. Her hair was loose and fell in long waves down her back to her waist, the sun briefly rested on her face, lighting up her pale complexion, and she gave a snort of disgust at her reflection.

Jaded she thought.

There was a flare of green in her bare fireplace and she turned abruptly to see Albus's head in the tongue of flame.

'Good morning,' he smiled at her.

'Morning Albus,' she said.

'I was looking for some advice,' he explained.

'_You _need _my_ advice,' she said archly, he grinned.

'I have several sets of robes here and I don't know which set to choose, which would be most appropriate…'

'I'll come through, shall I?'

'Please do.' His head disappeared but the floo connection stayed open and Minerva stepped into it, closing her eyes against the swirl of ashes from her fire of the night before, Albus was waiting for her on the other side.

'My!' he exclaimed on seeing her, she turned to him with a questioning face.

'I had no idea your hair was quite so long.'

Minerva felt behind her and felt her hair hanging loose, she looked disgruntled.

'Leave it down,' said Albus.

'I never do, it gets in the way.'

'Leave it down, my Minerva.' She paused in the act of sweeping it up into a ponytail, he reached out a hand and tentatively touched her hair. 'Beautiful,' he murmured just under his breath, and all of a sudden Minerva felt refreshed and rejuvenated, and not at all jaded.

'It's still going up,' she said firmly, but left it down until they left for the Great Hall and breakfast.

They arrived promptly at eleven onto the manor drive by apparition, like many homes anti-apparation jinxes operated over the house itself and the private gardens. They could hear noise from behind the house, laughter and childish voices raised in excitement, it sounded like most of the family were here already. They paused before the front door.

'Well, here we go,' said Minerva, wondering if she sounded as terrified as she felt, her tummy was wobbling like jelly on a washing machine.

'Me too,' said Albus, and held out his arm, she looked at him, startled, and then took it, feeling much better at once. 'Shall we?' he said, and rang the doorbell.

Cecelia answered, she was wearing a very stylish pale pink set of robes, no doubt the latest fashion on Diagon Alley. 'Minerva!' she cried cheerfully, her hostess's head firmly on.

'Hello Cecelia,' Minerva replied dryly. 'Albus, you've met my older sister before.'

'I have indeed,' he replied, reaching forward to clasp Ceci's hand and kiss it briefly.

'It is nice to see you under more pleasant circumstances,' said Ceci. 'Please come in, both of you.'

They were divested of their cloaks and led through the house to the back gardens where two long tables had been set out under canvas, covered in flower arrangements, silver plates, cutlery and goblets.

'You got out the best silver with Rufus's children here?' Minerva whispered aside to her sister.

'Min dear if you _will_ bring the most famous man in the world to our family gathering..!' hissed her sister back before raising her voice. 'Everybody! Look who's here!'

Seventeen pairs of eyes paused in whatever they had been doing and turned to look up the steps into the house, sixteen pairs of jaws dropped consecutively open; Winston had been forewarned.

'Bless my soul,' said Deirdre, Winston's elderly mother, sitting down abruptly on the side of the stone fountain.

'Well,' blinked Minerva's only cousin, Phineus McGonagall, born of her father's brother, who was also present, snoozing in a deck chair.

A skinny, slightly bent old lady whose hair was still jet black despite the age spots and walking stick, and who was wearing a truly impressive set of black robes with gold detail cackled delightedly.

'Min!' said Rufus Murray in shock, his wife speechless, holding their youngest, three year old Margaret.

'Haw!' chortled Uncle Kael, looking immensely amused, he stood up, a tall broad set man with a short bushy white beard wearing the blue and white of his navy uniform. 'Welcome, Minerva sweetie.'

'Uncle Kael!' Minerva beamed. 'I haven't seen you since…'

'Aye,' he agreed, grabbing her and pulling her into a rib cracking hug. 'How's my favourite Niece?'

'I'm fine, squished but fine.'

'Heard you were teaching at Hogwarts,' Uncle Kael's voice was incredibly deep, as children Minerva and Cecelia had believed its low rumble had been stolen from the ocean seas he sailed for a living.

'Yes, teaching transfiguration.' Uncle Kael's blue eyes crinkled, heavy creases crossed his forehead, a red scarf was tied across his throat in a sailors knot.

'Are you going to introduce me, lass?' he asked nodding at Albus pointedly, Minerva blushed.

'Ah, Uncle Kael, this is Albus Dumbledore, Albus, this is my Great-Uncle Kael, an Admiral of the Atlantic fleet.'

'Kael 'The Falconer' Worchester? It's an honour to meet you sir,' said Dumbledore, impeccably.

'Aye, that's me, and I know you of course,' Kael gave Albus a look that was extremely critical, evidently Albus had just met one of Minerva's protective relations.

Uncle Kael's frank greeting released everyone from their state of stupor and there was a general surge of movement toward Minerva and her companion.

'Min,' roared Rufus, a big man with sideburns and Winston's brother, shaking her hand enthusiastically, before pulling her into a hug anyway. His petite wife, Helena, was gentler, embracing Minerva and whispering into her ear: 'I want to know _everything_!'

The children, who had been standing in awe of _Albus Dumbledore_, lost their shyness and descended en mass on the couple, and Albus, looking completely delighted used his magic to twirl several around at once; their cheering was enough to raise several sleeping pheasants squawking from the foliage.

Deirdre, when she finally managed to stand, tottered over to shed a tear over Minerva and Albus made her flush when he kissed her hand and complimented her attire.

'Aye, you're certainly a sweet talker,' Uncle Kael commented slightly acidly as Deirdre had to sit down again.

'Now now Kael, give the man some credit,' the old lady with black hair and robes said, smiling thinly, she stepped up to press a dry kiss on Minerva's cheek.

'Aunt Maud Elaine, meet Albus Dumbledore,' said Minerva concealing her apprehension.

'Oh I know who he is dear,' she said sweetly. 'But what is he to you?'

Minerva coughed. 'Well he's here as my, ah…' she stammered and then died off.

'Oh, I see,' said Aunt Maud Elaine delicately, looking entirely too knowing.

'Good Morning M'lady,' said Albus, courteously, reaching for her hand, she gave him a look that would have cooked a chicken.

'Good Morning _Sir _Dumbledore,' she said. 'I was there for your presentation ceremony, how old did they say you were? Ninety-four?'

'Aunt Maud,' said Minerva sharply. 'How old were you when you married Borris?'

'Why I was nineteen dear.' There was nothing endearing about her endearments, they fell of the sharp edge of her tongue like hailstones.

'And he was?'

'Why he was one hundred and twelve,' replied Aunt Maud looking down her long thin nose patronizingly. 'But I, unlike you, knew what I was getting into.'

'And what _exactly_ do you think I'm getting myself into?' snapped Minerva, fast losing her temper.

'Why, my dear Minerva, I am only _ever_ looking after your interests,' said her aunt smiling superciliously.

'I can assure you,' said Albus calmly, a hand gently resting on Minerva's elbow. 'That I also, am only interested in looking after Minerva's interests.'

Aunt Maud Elaine smiled at him, it did not reach her eyes. 'You sound like you've done this before, boy.'

It must have been the first time Albus had been called 'boy' in decades, but he didn't seem to mind, in fact he laughed.

'Tea, anyone?' asked Cecelia, and successfully diverted peoples attention.

'I'm sorry,' murmured Minerva to Albus as they stepped onto the lawn. 'She's never been this bad before.'

'It's okay,' Albus reassured her, 'it's refreshing.'

'For you maybe,' she muttered, and went to help Cecelia pour, Winston stepped up to shake Albus' hand genially.

'Good weather, thank goodness,' he said heartily.

'Let's hope it lasts,' said Rufus, joining them with Phineus McGonagall in tow.

Kael's nose twitched, 'Rain on the horizon,' he grunted.

Winston's lips turned upwards at the corner very slightly, he glanced over at Albus Dumbledore and his brother and shared a look.

'I saw that,' grumbled Kael.

'So,' said Rufus, looking intensely at Albus. 'What are your intentions towards my little sister-in-law?'

'Don't be so nosy,' reprimanded Winston.

'Aye,' agreed Kael. 'We'll interrogate the man later -after he's had a few.'

'My plans precisely,' approved Winston, Rufus smirked at the slightly discomforted look on Albus' face.

'That's if he survives old Aunt Maud,' pointed out Phineus searching in his pocket for a light for his pipe.

'Aye,' said Kael, a wicked glint in his eye.

'Welcome to the family,' they chorused cheerfully and Albus could only laugh.

Later, after a noisy and delicious meal (provided by the house elves), Albus, who had mischievous six-year-old Persephone on his knee, was joined by Aunt Maud Elaine, who shooed the giggling girl away and sat down with her after dinner coffee.

'Are you enjoying yourself, Sir Dumbledore?'

'I am indeed,' he said truthfully.

'I'm so glad that we could provide some entertainment for you,' she responded.

'You seem somewhat opposed to my presence,' Albus said, giving her his full attention.

'Oh no, my dear boy, _I _object to your intentions.'

'You don't know what my intentions are.'

'Don't I?' she said caustically.

'Your concern for your great-niece is admirable, but unnecessary,' Albus said.

'Oh no, I think it's very necessary. Didn't you know; I'm a Seer,' she was satisfied to see him briefly taken aback.

'Minerva didn't mention it,' he said cautiously.

'Of course not, I only ever predict bad things, she cannot stand Seers. You see, I predicted her parents death.'

'I see,' said Albus slowly.

'No you don't. You don't see anything.'

'What do you see?' Albus asked.

'See for whom?'

'Myself and Minerva,' for some reason his heart was pounding in his ears as her green eyes stared intently into his.

'I see a life of love as torture,' she said.

'A life of love as torture?' Albus asked, baffled. 'That makes no sense.'

She gave him a disgusted look, 'Of course it doesn't,' she said. 'You're a man.' She drank the last of her coffee delicately, her claw like fingers hooked around it's tiny handle. When she put the cup down on its saucer, her vivid eyes, in her weathered face turned to him once more. 'You take care of her, mind,' Maud Elaine McGonagall said, suddenly much less caustic, she stood stiffly, ignoring his hand. 'The last McGonagall,' she mumbled hoarsely under her breath and walked crookedly away.

Albus Dumbledore stared after her, 'The last McGonagall,' he breathed beneath his breath.

'Sorry?' questioned Minerva's voice, and he turned to see her with a tray of cake balanced on one hand.

'Nothing, nothing,' he said, shaking himself from his melancholy.

'I come bearing cake,' she said. 'Would you care for a piece?'

'As if I could resist you _and _cake,' he took a generous chunk of what looked like simnal cake.

'What did she say to you?' Minerva asked, taking the just vacated seat.

'What do you mean?'

'Don't play rabbit with me Albus Dumbledore, she always says something.'

'Oh so you _have_ done this before.'

'I have. Once. Tell, Albus.'

'You didn't tell me she's a Seer, Minerva.'

'I didn't think it was important, you know I don't believe in all that tripe.' Minerva shrugged it off, and he let her.

'She said she saw for us, 'A life of love as torture', can you make any sense of it?'

'It's rather cryptic,' agreed Minerva, frowning over the edge of his cup of coffee she was drinking. 'But you should know- she always predicts something, it rarely comes true.'

'Indeed,' he said vaguely.

'Albus,' Minerva said, and covered his hands with her own. 'Please, don't let her spoil the day.'

'Never,' he said and lifted one of her hands to his lips.

'Please,' interrupted Cecelia's voice. 'Don't mind us.' They swivelled to see Cecelia and Winston had approached them unawares. 'Will you be staying the night?' Ceci enquired archly.

Minerva coloured scarlet and vehemently denied the offer.

'Thank you, but we must return to the school for this evening's dinner meal,' said Albus watching Minerva's reaction closely.

'Oh,' she said. 'I'd forgotten entirely. We had better make our goodbyes Albus, or we shall be late.'

'Must you go so soon, Min?' said Cecelia sadly.

'What's the matter Ceci?' Minerva asked, Winston gestured to Albus.

'We should go and say good bye to the gentlemen,' he said, Albus got the hint and they departed, Ceci sat down next to Minerva but looked away from her sister's face.

'What is it?' asked Minerva, genuinely worried. There was a brief pause as Ceci clasped and unclasped her hands.

'Winston and I are … are unable to have any more ch-children,' said Ceci, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

'Oh Ceci,' murmured Minerva, reaching to her sister and placing a comforting arm around her shoulders. 'I'm so sorry.'

'We knew it would be unlikely, but we had hoped… we miss Des so much Min!' Cecelia's shoulders trembled, and a single tear trickled down her cheek.

Minerva felt her own eyes moisten and blinked quickly.

'Me too,' she murmured, but knew that beside her own pain, her sister's would be so much more. She squeezed her sister's shoulders for a moment, long enough for Ceci to gain control of herself and straighten her back proudly.

'Up to you now, Min dear,' Cecelia pointed out, removing her younger sister's arm and clasping the hand.

'Up to me what?'

'To carry on the family bloodline,' Ceci said gently. 'You are going to have children eventually, aren't you Min?'

'I hadn't thought on it,' she replied, and knew as she said it, that it would occupy her thoughts from then on.

Cecelia looked at her piercingly but forbore to comment. They left with the warm goodbyes of the family and kisses from all but the oldest child, Perry who wouldn't consent to being kissed by his Aunt, and certainly wasn't going to kiss a man.

'Did you have a good time?' Minerva asked Albus, a little shy of his answer.

'I had a splendid time, Minerva. I think I could even become fond of your Aunt Maud Elaine!' Minerva laughed and as they were walking up the path to Hogwarts, slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, he didn't complain, but as they came closer to the old castle, they both moved away and went in separate directions to the Great Hall. It wouldn't do to excite gossip amongst the students and staff.

* * *

'Human transfiguration is one of the most difficult and dangerous transformations of all, Animagi are rare and by law required to register themselves. In order to be eligible for training you have to be highly skilled in transfiguration, excelling in all exams and practicals, you also have to show an ability to concentrate and show true dedication to the long arduous path it entails. Hardest of all you must find yourself a sponsor, an Animagi scholar who will agree to teach you the skills required for this complex magic, rare to find and rarer still to convince them to take you on. Good looks don't count, Michelle. Only three people have become Animagi in the last _century._' There was a collective wow from the students as Professor McGonagall rounded off her fourth year class with a lecture on the rarity of Animagi wizards. 'All in all, the decision to become an Animagus is only the first step, and one you may never reach beyond. Any questions?'

'Who was your sponsor, Professor?' asked the cheeky yet angelic looking blond Michelle.

Minerva's lips twitched in a remembered past. 'Sadly, in my age, my memory has forsaken me,' she replied, innocently. The class groaned loudly.

'You can't expect us to believe that Professor!' complained Michelle.

'I do and you will, Miss. Homework - three rolls of parchment on the rules and regulations the Ministry have in effect for Animagi and the reasons for.' Another huge groan. 'Enough muttering!' Minerva frowned, the class fell silent. 'Due in next Friday, no excuses, if it's not in you fail the term- along with failing the rest of your classmates.' A shocked silence, but just recently Minerva had been suffering from a spate of lazy students whose homework mysteriously disappeared just before class time, and she was coming down hard on it. 'Class dismissed!' she said curtly and turned away to wipe down her black board and pick up her papers.

They filed out almost silently; shoes dragged, papers shuffled and books dropped into leather bags, quiet words shared between friends and a bubbly laugh from popular Michelle. When the door closed behind the last one, Minerva turned around expecting an empty classroom and instead came face to face with Albus Dumbledore.

'Albus!' she screeched, her heart jumping. 'Could you wear a _bell_?'

'Your _memory _has forsaken you?' he enquired provocatively, pointing a finger accusingly. '_I _seem to remember that you, Miss McGonagall, got yourself into a bit of bother by _illegally _learning how to be an Animagus and that _I_ got you out of it by vouching for you as your _sponsor_!'

'Really?' Minerva said lightly. 'I don't quite recall.'

'No, I hear that your age has effected your memory greatly.' Albus looked serious and shook his head sadly.

'Imagine what that means for yours then,' she pointed out.

'I've always worked backwards,' said Albus. 'People always said I was such a serious, grown up little child, and yet now I'm heralded as being -'

'Immature?' she suggested.

Albus sighed. 'My colleagues on the International Wizarding Confederation would never believe the amount of back chat I get from my employees.'

'But I'm not your employee.'

'Oh?' he said. 'Then what are you?'

Minerva paused, and Albus looked quite delighted to have stumped her.

'I know what I am,' she said finally, and her look was strangely bright. 'I'm yours.'

And Albus could find no words to move his dumb tongue and stock still heart, and so she left him, a women's smile upon her lips, and him completely stumped.

* * *

Later that same night Minerva in her creamy silk negligee with her favourite dressing gown (on indefinite loan from Albus) hanging loosely from her shoulders, was wandering around her rooms watering her pot plants, something she liked to do herself, and something the plants occasionally suffered for. She frowned at her fern that was drooping on her bedroom window sill, and dribbled some water reinforced with magical Plush Plant Potion on it.

'What's the matter with you, little fellow?' she crooned, poking a finger around the top soil. 'Not enough sunlight? Don't you like it here?'

'Do you always talk to inanimate objects?' enquired Albus, from right behind her - she jumped.

'_Albus!_ What did I tell you about sneaking up on me!' she glared at him. 'And plants aren't inanimate.'

'That one is.' Albus's lips twitched and Minerva looked decidedly disconsolate as she turned back to her dying fern. 'You know, I can help,' said Albus.

'You can?' Minerva said, sceptically.

'I can.'

'You know what's wrong?'

'Yes.'

'What?'

'What's it worth?'

'Are you bargaining for life, Albus Dumbledore?' Minerva thrust the tube of her little watering can in his chest.

'Is the fern's life worth anything to you?'

'Of course.'

'Then yes I am,' Albus put a thumb against the tube of the can to stop the water spilling onto his pristine pyjamas.

'And what is your bargain?' Minerva demanded.

'I want my dressing gown back,' and Albus reached out to tug the fur trim of the heavy dressing gown she wore.

'No chance!' she refused, shaking her head so that her plaited hair swung wildly.

Albus shook his head sadly. 'Then you must bid farewell to your fern, for I fear he will not last out the night.'

'Oh, Albus!' cried Minerva, pretending to be terribly distraught, a hand to her brow; Albus chuckled at her antics. 'Can I not appeal to your sense of chivalry, inherent in every Gryffindor?'

'Certainly you may, but I'm afraid it will do you no good. I am without honour tonight.'

'Oh fie Master fie!'

'But I am not without intention or dark deeds,' he added, and took the watering can from her grasp to discard it on the window ledge.

'Why sir, you shame yourself!' Minerva declared, lifting her chin. 'Will you not save this fern?'

'For a fair lady's kiss I would save a thousand.'

Minerva paused for a moment and her pretence faded, before she raised an eyebrow with a challenging glint in her eye. 'Then, sir, we must find you a fair lady to kiss, before this fern wilts beyond recovery.'

'There is only one fair lady to whom I would give a kiss,' said Albus, 'and she is standing right before me.'

'I see her not,' declared Minerva.

'That,' said Albus, 'is because you are not close enough.' And saying so, he pulled her forward to within mere inches of his body.

'I still find a strange absence of fair ladies,' said Minerva, looking up at him, her green eyes were flecked with hazel.

'Strange,' murmured Albus, a hand caressing her hair. 'For I find myself close enough to touch or dare I say, kiss, the only one I know.'

'What falsehoods! A man as powerful as you must know many beautiful maidens.'

'I know now that I have only ever known one, Minerva - and she is you.'

'Albus,' Minerva said quietly, all traces of pretence gone from her voice. 'Do not play with me.'

'My beloved Minerva, I would never dare for fear it would break my heart,' Albus replied, and his blue eyes roved her face as if he was starved for her visage.

Minerva lifted her hands to the unbuttoned collar of his blue and white pyjamas and teased them, a few of his chest hairs were exposed, wiry brown curls. Inside of her, her stomach contracted sharply as his hands found their way to her waist beneath the protective dressing gown, curving to her figure, the soft nightgown a second skin.

'For a kiss, you will save my fern?' she smiled, so close now that she could see some faint freckles on his long nose.

'For a kiss, I am yours,' Albus said and bent his head. A soft whisper of a breath from his lips warmed her face and made her lips tingle before his lips themselves connected. She took an indrawn breath and tilted her head to return it, a gentle kiss for a kiss, before they parted. Albus's voice was hoarse as he spoke:

'You shouldn't feed it _Plush Plant Potion_, ferns are allergic.'

'Oh,' said Minerva, and then, 'Ohh,' as her mind registered the remark and she remembered her fern. With his hands still on her waist it was terribly hard to remember anything beyond the electricity currently strangling both their voices, humming between them dangerously.

Minerva swallowed and opened her mouth, then closed it, and opened it.

'Do you, do… Albus, would you, do you,' she stopped, a breath away from saying it. _Do you want to stay the night with me, here, now, together?_

'Good night, my Minerva,' said Albus, seeing her stuck in an unconscious dilemma and making up her mind for her.

'Albus!' she began, as he moved away from her towards the fire.

'Yes?' he asked, turning with a roguish glitter in his eyes, he obviously thought he knew what she was about to ask him. _Well, tough_ thought Minerva, who was not without a wicked side.

'Thanks for saving my fern,' she said lightly and sashayed off to bed.

* * *

A/N : Huge thanks to all my readers, especially for the minimal death threats I have received! Please (pretty please with a cherry on top?) keep reviewing, the next chapter, the final one is already 1,000 words in progress, although not much for the usual length of mine is 11,110 words (roughly).

Kudos to 'Pamela' by Samuel Richardson for some vague snitching in the final scenes.

Review Thanks and Replies go out to:

Twilight66 - Somebody who understands my jokes! Hurrah! lol

Minerva'sQuill - You reviewed every chapter all in a row! T/y!

Catwoman99 - Thanks, fancy reading all three in one go, no wonder you ran late for work!

Redwoman06 - You reviewed three times! Begging…. Eep, I'm so sorry! Blame RL and writers block.

Lindelewen - Thank you, the long chapters make up for the hideously long delays.

Hermione Gardiner - Note ; more!

Stephanie - Albus and Minerva are getting there, not quite _there_ but well on their way!

Aliquis - A very flattering review, thank you! All my reviews are written by considerate and happy people, so I consider myself honoured. Lol

Griselda La Fey - I loved your first review! It made me laugh. But I am jealous of your regular updates, I adore 'My Best Friends Wedding'!

Margo Wulfric - Thank you.

deathbycookie15 - Professor Hawthorne is kinda hot… moodily sexy! And yes, I am quite dramatic, but then it wouldn't be any fun if I wasn't! lol.

Palanfanaiel - Very summarised review, hee! And yes, wickedness is good, though I'm afraid that it is the last chapter that will have the most evil in it. Oh, and, what does 'hmss' stand for? ;-)

Raven - Thank you very much!

Child-of-the-Dawn - Excellent! Another person who likes long chappies! Thank you for your review.

Minerva - Sorry I didn't update 'soon' but I hope this is okay!

Laura Kay - I expect you wondered if I was going to continue after _this_ one, but look! I did! Thanks for the review.

Snicker doodle - Thanks for a review that made my day!

Chicken13 - Thank you

Mana - Back again, thank you for the review!

Lady Mireille - No compromise I'm afraid, another long chapter but with it a very long wait. Your review was thoughtful and insightful, I find myself in agreement with your expressions. And yes, Elise was created to show us the future McGonagall and to help me explain how she changes into the strict no-nonsense professor we see in canon. I love your reviews! Thank you!

WitchWhoopie - Thanks!

Elayne Sedai - Wow! A non ADMM fan who loves my fic, I must be doing something right - thank you for taking the time to review!

CEA - Oh dear, they don't kiss in this one either… I can assure you they will in the next and final chapter. Honestly. Thanks for the great review.

LinZE - Thanks for reviewing as always! I'm such a lazy reviewer when it comes to your fics, I promise to do better in the future!

And Dicere whose reviews always make me feel like I write something better than the rubbish I think I write. If that makes sense.


	5. Chapter five

_A/N: I should warn you all – this _isn't_ the finale! It seems I have too much to write to fit in just one more chapter – and my chapters are long enough as it is! Don't panic though- I'm on a roll, and fully intend to finish Nouveau asap. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy and _remember _the fic!_

**Nouveau: Chapter Five**

Minerva was woken by the unpleasant sensation of her face being pecked; she flapped her hands around to get it away from her face and slapped a feathered head holding a letter. She peeled her uncooperative eyes open and reluctantly moved from the cocoon of warmth beneath her covers; the bird was a large tawny, obviously this was a first class postage.

'Ungh,' she grunted at the owl taking the letter and waving the bird to a dish of owl treats that lay on the window sill. She turned to her bedside clock; the dials pointed at 'Too early to even contemplate'. Sighing, Minerva shivered a little as the cold air hit her now bare shoulders, and opened the letter.

It took her awhile to read the letter but by the end she was wide awake, her eyes clear and wide with shock, whatever she had expected it was not this, not ever this. She hadn't expected to hear from him ever again, and it hadn't bothered her, but now he had written and all of a sudden her world was spinning at an entirely new angle.

_What am I going to do? _

_

* * *

_

Breakfast was an affair Minerva would have liked to miss, but with her position of authority it was not wise unless she had an excellent excuse, so with a distressed air that she could not quite hide and the letter tucked safely away in her robe pocket, she arrived in the Great Hall at seven thirty, having been awake since half past five.

It would have been fine, most likely no one would have noticed, if only Minerva had remembered to do her hair into its traditional bun, as it was, she had plaited it ready to pull up but it remained down, a long tail down her back, and a sure clue that something was wrong with the usually impeccably attired Minerva McGonagall.

'Minerva,' said Albus after she had seated herself beside him. 'What is wrong?'

She stared at him, shocked. 'What?'

'I've never seen you enter the Great Hall without your bun firmly in place.'

'My what? Oh my _bun_! Oh, I forgot.'

'Evidently. Why?'

'No reason,' said Minerva giving a very superficial smile, it was bright and brittle.

'You lie appallingly,' he said, handing her the milk. 'Is there a reason you're lying?'

'Oh because normally I lie for the sheer fun of it,' snapped Minerva, unusually spiteful, and then caught herself at Albus' unsettled expression. 'I'm sorry,' she said, and sighed, horrified to find herself on the edge of tears. 'I received a letter…' she trailed off.

'From whom?' he asked, concerned, beneath the table his hand found hers and enfolded it in his.

'From somebody I used to know,' replied Minerva. 'It's nothing Albus, honestly.' She pulled her hand out from under his and got up from the table. 'I'm not hungry,' she said in answer to his look. 'And I need to do my hair.'

'But Minerva-' protested Albus, disturbed.

'Good day, Headmaster,' said Minerva, and made quick her departure.

Back in her rooms she unfolded a piece of parchment from where she had secreted it in her robes, an anxious frown on her brow.

'Oh Luigi,' she breathed, and sat down on the edge of her bed to read it - again.

Midday, when she should have been paying close attention to her fourth year Hufflepuff class, she made a huge decision, and picking up her quill, and a small piece of parchment, she wrote;

_Sunday at eleven, in the Leaky Cauldron. I can't stay for long. Minerva._

_

* * *

_

Later that same day, night had fallen, and Minerva had retreated to her rooms to catch up on her marking, away from the distraction of the other professors, when, much to her irritation, a knock sounded at her door. She dropped her quill and hissed through her clenched teeth.

'Come in!'

The door swung open to admit Albus Dumbledore, bearing a platter of sandwiches, a jug of pumpkin juice and a tentative smile.

'You missed lunch and dinner,' he reminded her, walking in and placing the platter down on top of some seventh year essays.

'On purpose,' she said, shortly.

He caught the inflection in her voice, and stopped mid-way through pulling a chair up to her desk.

'What's wrong?' he asked, abruptly.

'Why does anything have to be wrong, Albus?' she said, caustically.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. 'I apologise for intruding,' he said mildly. 'I was concerned. Thought you might be hungry.'

Minerva paused, feeling slightly guilty, but a headache was beginning to throb behind her eyes, and the letter was still preying on her thoughts.

'I need to mark these,' she said, indicating the essays beneath the sandwiches.

'And you want to be alone,' he added for her. 'As you wish.' He swiveled around at the door, 'At least eat something,' he pleaded, and closed the door quietly behind himself.

Minerva buried her head in her hands for a moment and then stood abruptly; she grabbed a sandwich as she swept purposefully from her rooms.

She found Gil cataloging medicines in her office off the hospital ward, and flopped into the spare seat, uninvited, with a heavy sigh.

'I need help, Gil.'

'I noticed,' Gil answered, prodding a square tea pot with her wand; steam began to rise from the spout. 'You missed all the meals today.'

Minerva glared and was about to snap a retort but stopped herself. 'One letter and I'm as grumpy as Professor Hickory.'

Gil rattled cups onto saucers and poured the tea, pushing the milk towards Minerva. 'So now it all comes out,' she said. 'Tell.'

'Luigi,' Minerva responded despondently.

'_Luigi!_' exclaimed the nurse, eyes wide. 'The Italian paramour! What the hell's he doing writing to you?'

In answer Minerva fished inside her robes for the letter itself, and handed it with some relief to her friend. Gil unrolled it, scowling, and began to read as Minerva ran a finger round and round the rim of her tea cup.

'Cad!' insulted Gil, dumping the finished letter onto the desk top.

Minerva didn't say anything, but studied the bubbles in her tea, a nasty suspicion rose in Gil's mind.

'You wrote back!' she accused.

'How could I not!' defended Minerva, looking distinctly uneasy.

'What did you say?' Gil asked, shaking her head.

'That I would meet him.'

'_What?'_ Gil hissed, incredulously.

'I'm just going to go for a quick drink,' protested Minerva.

'This is insane, Minerva!' wailed Gil, gripping her curly hair in true banshee spirit.

'One drink! It doesn't mean anything.'

'Oh please! Merlin, Min, this man treated you like skrewt shit, and now you're running back to him!'

'Gil! I'm not getting involved with him again!'

'Then why are you going to see him at all?'

Minerva opened her mouth and then shut it, looking miserable. Curls of steam were rising from their tea cups, lifting up to wind misty fingers around the jars of medicines lining the narrow walls on rickety looking shelves.

'He said in the letter...' Minerva began. Gil snorted.

'He regrets letting you go? So what? Serves the flobberworm flem right!'

'Gil!'

Gil grimaced but didn't look at all apologetic. 'I thought you fancied Albus, or maybe David.'

'_Gil!'_ cried Minerva again, feeling positively exposed.

'You told me he broke your heart, Min. Why would you want to see him? Do you still love him?'

'Gil, please... that's not what this is about.'

'Oh Min, I don't think you know _what_ this is about.' Gil shook her head, sipped her tea and winced as it seared her tongue. 'You need to think really carefully about this.'

'You don't think I have?'

'And if you insist on going through with this foolish date –'

'It's not a date!' Minerva interrupted fiercely; Gil ignored her, and continued blithely:

'-You have to dress to impress. Which is where _I _come in!' Gil finished triumphantly.

Minerva looked somewhat nervous. 'I was just going to wear my school robes.'

Gil looked askance at Minerva's apparel. 'Not a chance. I'm choosing what you wear.'

'This isn't a date!' repeated Minerva, a touch desperately.

'You keep telling yourself that,' said Gil shrewdly, a wicked smile on her face as she patted Minerva's shoulder comfortingly.

* * *

Sunday morning found the two of them in Minerva's rooms, the latter watching her reflection critically in a tall oval looking glass.

'Well,' said Gil, looking very satisfied with herself. 'If I was going to meet my ex, I know I'd want to look that good!'

'They're red,' grimaced Minerva, of her robes.

'Yes they are,' beamed Gil.

'My hair!' Minerva complained, lifting up its heavy loose waves with her hands.

'Very yummy Professor,' Gil teased, laughing at Minerva's discomfort. 'You look beautiful- long ebony tresses, fitting deep red robes, emerald eyes..'

'You sound positively _Witch Weekly_,' snorted Minerva.

'Ugh,' said Gil in disgust. 'Too much time spent talking frivolities… I need to find some pupils to dose.'

'Please do.' Minerva replied dryly. 'See me out?'

They walked in silence down the staircases, sunlight shining through the windows, long searching rays illuminating columns of dust, sparkles drifting in a lazy Sunday atmosphere.

A few students passed and stared at Professor McGonagall, who hadn't realised how different she looked from her day to day appearance, she began to feel self-conscious and worried that she might come across Sendar.

But it wasn't Sendar standing at the entrance, sharing a two foot long lolly with a Ravenclaw third year; it was Albus Dumbledore.

'What's wrong?' asked Gil, and Minerva realised she had come to a complete stop.

'Nothing,' she forced a smile and swallowed the lump in her throat.

'Hmm,' said Gil, sceptically. 'I'll get your cloak.' She trotted lightly down the remainder of the stairs and disappeared into the cloak room.

Minerva dallied on the stairs, the girl with the long lolly pop looked up and gaped, the Headmaster turned on his heel and looked up also, his face dropped, the sparkles disappeared, he came forward, where no students could see his expression, his eyes intent on hers.

He didn't say a word as she descended to the foyer, she smiled nervously at him, but he didn't return it, he looked almost fierce, and she had the sudden idea that he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her hard. The thought of it brought colour into her cheeks, and made her breath catch, and then she realised he would want to know why she was dressed up, and where she was going. She felt like she was betraying him, and for a second she wanted to cry, before it turned to anger; if he asked her, she would dress like this for him, and him alone, _if_ he ever asked her.

'Professor McGonagall,' Albus greeted her, an armspan away.

'Headmaster,' she said, just as politely.

'Going out for the day?'

'Yes,' she said succinctly, short.

His expression changed, he looked surprised and then confused.

'Some one special?' he inquired, trying to smile.

Minerva opened her mouth and then looked away; she didn't know how to answer. Gil saved her, back with her long over cloak.

'Headmaster,' smiled Gil, and then, in an aside: 'Doesn't Minerva look ravishing?'

'Yes,' said Dumbledore, looking like he had lockjaw. 'Yes, she does.'

Gil didn't seem to notice how tense her two colleagues had grown. 'Min,' she said, squeezing her friend's arm, 'good luck!'

'Thanks,' said Minerva, she nodded to Dumbledore and turned to walk briskly out the great front doors of Hogwarts, swirling the cloak around her as she did so.

'She'll need it,' commented Gil to Dumbledore, as they watched Minerva's slender figure weave through the students down the drive.

'Need what?' he asked.

'Luck.'

'Why?' He turned to look at the school nurse.

'I probably shouldn't say,' admitted Gil, rather wickedly, 'but she's meeting her ex, the devilishly handsome Luigi. Her first love.'

'Is she indeed.' He looked out the doors and then rather rapidly walked away. Gil looked after him, surprised, and then shrugged it off; she looked around her and frowned.

'You!' she snapped, at a second year boy who had just cleared his throat. 'Come with me!'

'What! Why?' he asked, bewildered.

'You need dosing,' she told him, and gripping his shoulder, led him away.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron seemed unfairly busy for a Sunday, the smell of roast dinners wafted deliciously up from many platters, as well as the occasional raw, bloody smell. Eyes followed Minerva as she entered, tall and unconsciously haughty in her uneasiness, but she did not notice, busy casting her eyes about, searching for Luigi, if he was late…

'Minerva.' And it was him, she recognised that smooth sophisticated voice, she turned to see him standing there, two drinks in his hands. Luigi was Italian, the genuine tall dark and handsome stranger fortune tellers liked to foresee, a small goatee and short, slightly ruffled hair, a gorgeous smile and warm brown eyes. Her heart beat faster just on seeing him, it had been so long, he stepped forward, and a ready smile lit up his face.

'You are beautiful,' he murmured, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. 'Merlin, I've missed you, Minerva.' He looked distressed and so she hastened to smile at him.

'I'm here now, Luigi, but I can't stay long.' But she already wanted to, this man had made her skin burn with desire, convinced her of her beauty when she had been young and vulnerable.

'I understand.' He nodded towards a secluded corner. 'I got you a drink, butterbeer, I know how much you like it.' He was walking toward the table he had secured for them, and didn't see the flash of irritation that Minerva felt, it had been years since they last met, she quite fancied a glass of wine, but he hadn't even asked her.

They sat, and she shook away her irritation, it was easy to do as Luigi turned his complete and utter focus onto her.

They talked for hours, about everything and nothing, Luigi was a curse breaker for the Italian branch of Gringotts, and had plenty of fascinating stories of daring and laughter to share. Gradually Minerva relaxed until they were seated thigh to thigh, and his thumb was caressing the top of her hand, which lay lax in his on the table. Frissons of delicious tension ran through her at every touch he bestowed, the conversation dwindled until they were just sat there, and Minerva's thoughts were with the past, and all the times they had been together as lovers.

'Minerva,' he said, and his voice croaked. 'I very much want to kiss you right now.'

Her stomach flipped over as a pins and needles feeling climbed her spine. 'I think you want me to, too,' he murmured.

Another flash of irritation, but a hand trailing her thigh drove those thoughts from her mind, it had been a long time for her, and she had forgotten the abandon that came with desire, the recklessness of it.

'Luigi,' she murmured, a rational thought fighting to surface beneath the haze that was clouding her mind.

'Yes..?' he answered, vaguely, paying close attention to how soft her hand was.

'I can't do this.'

His hands paused their soothing movement.

'Yes you can.' He disagreed gently. 'Please, Minerva. My life has been all confusion and chaos since you left it. I need you!'

'Luigi, you finished with _me_. This is too sudden, and I have… other things going on in my life right now.'

'You're with somebody else?' he actually had the audacity to sound slightly surprised! The romantic haze was cleared from Minerva's mind by a strong gust of reality.

'Yes!' she exclaimed, and then, 'No. It's complicated.'

'I've pushed you.' Luigi sighed and removed his hands. 'I had no right. Minerva, if we can be friends, and see each other as friends, then I'll be satisfied.'

She looked at him, surprised. Coming from Sendar, that line would have been met with incredulity, but Luigi was different, she knew him, he was sincere.

'That would be… really good, Luigi.'

'And maybe, in time, you might look at me like you once did, as I still look at you.'

The way he said it, looking down at his hands, almost bashful in his honesty won Minerva over, she nearly kissed him right then and there.

'Oh Luigi,' she sighed. 'Thank you.'

'When can we meet again?' he asked, and his eyes were warm on hers, his smile a quirk of his lips.

'Write to me!' she said on impulse. 'We'll meet soon, I promise.'

'By your words…' he said, and then reached forward to squeeze her hand. 'You'll hear from me soon, Minny, _I_ promise.'

* * *

Professor David Hawthorne was somewhat surprised to find the Headmaster sat on his compost heap. He covered it well by continuing his plan to dump squeezed bototuber pustules into the container of rotting excess; the Headmaster moved with surprisingly alacrity.

'Headmaster,' he greeted politely, and then went back to re-potting the pandemonium pansies.

The Headmaster rolled up his sleeves and upturned a pot of pansies, the faces of horned beasts briefly surfing in colours before they were buried in soil, their roots waving like little pronged forks.

'David,' the Headmaster began, and then hesitated.

'Uh-huh?'

'Call me, Albus.'

'Why?'

'Because you're not a student.'

'You are my boss.'

The headmaster made a face and poured cyanide around the re-potted pansies in their new, larger pot.

'Call this a one-off then.'

David nodded; despite himself he was rather intrigued as to why the Headmaster had joined him in Greenhouse three on a sunny Sunday afternoon.

'I need some advice.'

David Hawthorne dropped his trowel - on his foot. It hurt like hell. He thought about asking what the hell the Headmaster was doing coming to him for advice, what he wanted advice on, and how his ruddy foot now felt like it had a huge dent in it; but he was not naturally loquacious, in fact, talking seemed like a helluva lot of bother sometimes.

'Someone I … have feelings for is… seeing someone else.'

David grunted; he'd had no idea that Dumbledore liked _anyone_, the man was all blue-eyed and twinkly to every damn person he met, and he'd met some horrors. In fact, David wouldn't have been surprised if on meeting Grindelwald, Dumbledore's first comment had been about the man's surprising knack for disappearing and his inclination for suede.

'The thing is… the thing is, well, I don't know quite what to do about it.' Dumbledore cast a sidelong glance at Hawthorne to see his reaction, but his bushy brows hid his eyes, and his head was lowered to the task at hand.

'Have you told her how you feel?' David ventured.

'Yes. Well, sort of. I thought we had an … understanding.'

He _thought?_ The man was a genius, and he _thought_ he'd told this woman how he felt! Never mind that any woman who possibly _thought_ that Albus Dumbledore was interested in them would hardly dare to believe it. He _thought!_

'You _thought?_' he pointed out in a grumble.

'Well, yes.'

'Ever actually ask her?'

'Well, no.'

'Ever tell her how you feel?'

'Well, no, I suppose not, really.'

There was a pause.

'She thinks I'm not interested, doesn't she?' The Headmaster rubbed a grubby hand across his beard.

'She's not going to wait around for ever just to find out.' Hawthorne grinned. 'You're famous, Albus, but not _that_ famous.' He dumped another pot of heaving pansies onto the newspapered surface, and the form of the Exmoor Beast briefly ran through the threatened flowers; he was not entirely surprised to find Albus Dumbledore gone when he reached for the cyanide.

* * *

At dinner that night, Gil leaned across the carrots and whispered. '_So?_'

Minerva smiled gleefully, 'He was lovely,' she murmured.

'Did he beg on bended knee?' Gil prodded nosily.

'No,' said Minerva still smiling to herself; Gil frowned suspiciously.

'Min-erv-a!'

'What?'

'A few hours in this man's company and you are practically a lovesick teenager. I thought you weren't getting involved?'

'I'm not! We're just friends!' Minerva denied.

'Minerva, be careful!' Gil warned.

'I'm not a child, Gil!' snapped Minerva, uppity, a flush of colour in her cheeks.

'Come _on_!' hissed Gil, her voice rising. 'You are in danger of becoming infatuated – again! If you're so much older and wiser –'

'Stop lecturing me!' Minerva interrupted a touch of anger in her voice. 'He was sorry – that was enough.'

'Give over!' ridiculed Gil, frustrated. 'He has you right where he wants you! You're falling for the same lines!'

'I am _not!'_ Minerva retorted, angry at Gil for trying to ruin what had so far been a wonderful day.

Their voices had risen above the general hum of the staff table chatter; there were curious glances in their direction. Gil snorted in disgust and sat back in her chair, Minerva ignored her, her back rigid to Gil's glare. Albus Dumbledore watched curiously from his seat at the centre, and when Gil gave up and stalked away from the table, he stood to saunter casually along to Minerva's place.

'Gil told me,' he said in greeting, stealing said lady's now absent chair. Minerva stiffened in fury at her friend's indiscretion. 'How did it go?'

Minerva swallowed. _Well, this was awkward_. 'Fine,' she answered loosely.

'Oh?' he inquired politely.

She relented, 'He's …changed,' she added.

Albus Dumbledore was quiet for a moment; watching her flushed face, seeing the emotion there, feeling his heart beating hard against his ribs.

'I understand,' he said finally, and without another word, stood and left the Great Hall, leaving her alone, leaving Minerva confused and unsure; he understood _what_?

* * *

At the end of that week's staff meeting, Minerva hung behind, wanting to speak to Albus, who had been uncharacteristically distant lately since his cryptic comment at the dinner table; she missed his humour, his counsel, the fond teasing. 

When everybody had shuffled out, with end of the week tired faces, she walked across to address his back, which was all she could see of him.

'Albus,' she said mildly. 'Is something wrong with _you_?'

Albus Dumbledore turned around and smiled absent-mindedly at the woman standing before him. 'No, my dear. Why?'

'I've missed you lately,' she murmured shyly.

'I am gratified,' he responded. 'I've been busy with my Headship duties; end of term etc.' He waved a hand to his desktop, covered with piles of paperwork that looked in eminent danger of sliding onto the floor. 'But I've been meaning to ask you – how goes it with Luigi?'

She raised her eyebrows, astonished. 'It's... okay. We've exchanged a few letters.'

'That's good to hear,' he smiled briefly and tucked his long auburn beard into his wide maroon belt.

'It is?' she asked quizzically.

'Yes,' he said. 'Isn't it?'

She stared blankly, totally at sea. 'Yes, I suppose so,' she replied slowly. 'But, Albus –'

'I'm very glad you've found somebody,' he said heartily, shifting the paperwork so that it was more secure, his back once again turned to her.

_You are, are you? _thought Minerva acidly. 'Yes, me too,' she forced it from behind clenched teeth. 'A handsome, _young_ man,' she added pointedly.

His back didn't respond, though she thought it might have twitched. 'Well,' said Minerva with false airiness. 'If you'll excuse me, I have a dozen velvet red roses to find vases for.'

When the door had clicked shut behind her, Albus Dumbledore seated himself heavily behind his desk and dropped his head into his hands. What else had he been expecting? Of course she would have found a younger, fitter, more dashing man to spend her time with! He could hardly blame her, what was the love of an old man, compared to that of this _Luigi_… His lips twisted at the name; what kind of idiotic nancy-boy fool of a swine was called _Luigi_? Well, apparently the kind that his beautiful young transfiguration professor had fallen for. It had never been going to happen, he had been an idiot; she was his colleague, if that was good enough for Hawthorne, it was good enough for him. It had to be.

He had no idea that just inside her office; Minerva McGonagall was shedding tears of mixed fury and sadness. _Idiot _she was chastising herself. _Fancy thinking that a gifted, accomplished man like Albus Dumbledore could fall in love with an unimportant, plain looking woman like you! _She wiped her tears away angrily with the back of her hand, _He's a good man, but it's time to move on, _she told herself firmly, and picking up her quill, she wrote 'Dear Luigi' on to a new piece of parchment.

* * *

Gil Aldridge buried her head in her hands and ignored the cauldron bubbling beside her. The pepper-up potion would be turning into a useless poisonous sludge but she had no mind to tend to it. She was worried, tired and not a little depressed. She had grown used to Minerva's company, but lately that had dribbled off, and the two had been more often at odds than not. Minerva seemed to spend every waking moment thinking of Luigi, and had little time for the nurse, especially one who tried to bring her back down to reality every time they chatted.

The door to Gil's office opened and Markus O'Reiuss, the Muggle Studies professor entered.

'Hey,' he said, cautiously. The nurse had a habit of teasing him quite wickedly enough to make him blush, although since George's leaving do and the night they had somewhat unexpectedly spent together, there had been a noticeable lack thereof.

She didn't answer him; her fingers were gripping her curly hair tight enough to make him wince.

'Gil?' he asked, tentatively, and stepped up to her shoulder. 'Gil, are you-'

He stopped when he saw the glimmer of a tear on her chin. 'Oh Merlin,' he whispered, sure of something dire. 'What's happened?'

'You'll laugh at me,' she mumbled, from beneath a confusion of tangled curls and fingers.

'No,' he disagreed, suddenly quite certain that he wouldn't, that he would never laugh at her again.

'It's Min,' Gil muttered.

'What about her?' Markus wondered aloud. 'Come on, what's going on between the two of you?'

'She's abandoned me for some bloke! He's _Italian!_' wailed Gil, as if the man's country of origin made the abandonment worse.

'Um-' said Markus, feeling out of his depth.

'-And she _hates_ me because I think he's a _git_ and she thinks he's _great_ and every time we get together we end up arguing!'

'So just… grin and bear it,' Markus advised. 'She'll get over him eventually.'

'But she should be with-' However, this bit was an incoherent mumble. 'But he doesn't seem to be doing anything about it, and I – just – want – my – friend – back!' Gil took a heaving gasp and practically wailed the rest.

It was silly, but that didn't matter; all the staff knew that Minerva had been treating Gil with cold disdain, and Gil had been equally huffy in response, though nobody had known what it was about; all that mattered to Markus was that Gil was crying and he needed to make her feel better.

He didn't think, didn't remember the time she had hexed his shaggy blond hair green for putting plastic snakes in her potions bottle, didn't worry that she might hate him for finding her so vulnerable, he just knelt and pulled her down to curl cradled in his arms.

Then she was really sobbing, without any pretences, snotty heaving cries into his chest, and he knew that it wasn't really about Minerva anymore, but about Stephen, her dead fiancé, killed because he went to the aid of muggles, her parents, lost in a muggle plane crash, and herself and the loneliness that came with growing up the mother to her twin brothers, financially dependent upon an uncle who thought that little girls belonged in his bed.

When finally the crying abated, he handed her a student essay to blow her nose on (a little awkward, but he had nothing else to hand), and pressed a warm kiss to her aching forehead.

'Thanks,' she said finally, her voice hoarse. She looked up at him, face red and blotchy, eyes bright and blood-shot. 'Why are you so nice to me?'

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, pondering the question himself.

'I – it feels right,' he tried to explain, his crooked smile appearing half-embarrassed.

'I don't know what I would do without you,' she told him, her hands gripping the front of his robes.

'Then don't. Ever.'

* * *

As the summer progressed and Minerva's first year of teaching at Hogwarts began its final stage, she found her Head of House duties becoming more onerous. With exams looming all the students were tense and crotchety, most especially the fifth and seventh years, due to sit their OWL and NEWT level examinations, hardly an hour went by without Minerva hearing a knock upon her office door, or a student collapsing into tears or hysterics in her classroom.

She was beginning to feel a little over-wrought and emotional herself. It was the first time she had realised that her students' performance in their tests would reflect her apparent teaching ability, and the thought caused her no small amount of trepidation, as she explained to Luigi over lunch in the Three Broomsticks one sunny Tuesday afternoon.

'Albus Dumbledore was their previous teacher!' she moaned. 'How can I possibly compare to _that!_'

'Oh, I don't know, Minny,' Luigi grinned. 'I think you'll manage just fine.'

Minerva chomped on a lettuce leaf and made a face at him. 'He was an incredible teacher,' she mumbled through lettuce. 'I should know.'

'Your teaching styles are no doubt very different; how do you know that yours isn't better?' Luigi pointed out.

'Trust me,' said Minerva, finishing her mouthful, 'I know.'

'You undervalue yourself.'

'That's why I have you,' Minerva smiled. 'To make me feel better!'

'And it is my pleasure to do so,' Luigi replied and leaned forward to kiss her mayonnaise smeared mouth.

It was a sleepy summer's day outside; fluffy white clouds bouncing on pure blue skies, sunlight bright and sparkling on the rooftops and windows of Hogsmeade village; Minerva was more than happy to let a gorgeous, attentive Italian man kiss her self-doubts away.

Which was why she wasn't upset to open her eyes and see Gil Aldridge glancing their way, stood at the bar with Markus, she and Gil hadn't returned to their previous ease of friendship since their dinner table disagreement one month ago, and the estrangement had hurt Minerva more than Albus' strange behaviour since the same event.

'Join us?' she asked the nurse, standing and holding out a placatory hand. The petite woman nodded, her mass of red curls tied up in a ponytail against the summer heat, they sat, the two woman ill-at-ease, the men somewhat confused.

'Missed you,' Minerva told her honestly.

'Missed you too,' said Gil, a slight smile starting.

'Luigi,' said Minerva, her eyes on Gil's reaction. 'This is Gil Aldridge, the school nurse.'

'I am pleased to meet you,' Luigi greeted easily, a ready smile on his handsome face. 'I hear you have amazing taste in clothes.'

Gil laughed.

'I told him it was you that dressed me in red,' Minerva confessed. 'Markus, Luigi. Markus teaches Muggle studies.'

'Hey,' said Markus, bobbing his head agreeably. 'And Luigi is?'

'I'm a curse breaker for Gringotts,' said Luigi; beneath the table his hand was warm on Minerva's thigh.

'Really?' said Markus, propping his elbows on the table. 'My brother's in Lithuania for Gringotts at the moment. Something about a warren of caves and a coven of thirsty vampires last I heard!'

Luigi grinned. 'Know that one, got trapped by mummies in an Egyptian tomb once; I wasn't the exotic princess they were expecting.'

Gil leant across to grip Minerva's hand as the men compared horror stories, each more gory than the last.

'You were right,' she conceded. 'He _is_ gorgeous!'

Minerva beamed in relief. 'And you and Markus…?' She gave a significant glance to the closeness of their seats, and watched the heat rise in her friend's face. 'Oh, we _need_ to catch up!' Minerva chuckled.

* * *

She returned late that night, in fact it was morning when she snuck back into the castle, humming to herself happily; she had spent the night with Luigi in his London apartment, and there hadn't been much sleeping involved. She trotted up the stairs with a wide grin on her face, and found Albus Dumbledore coming in the opposite direction, dressed in his pyjamas and surprised to see her.

'Albus,' she beamed.

'Minerva,' he responded. 'Not been to bed?'

'Ah,' said Minerva, blushing at the thought of the last bed she had been in. 'I've just come in.'

'You're lucky not to need beauty sleep,' he commented wryly. 'It's five o'clock.'

She was startled by the compliment and a little off-kilter.

'I hope Gil, at least, manages to get a lie in,' Albus chuckled.

'Oh, I wasn't with Gil,' Minerva corrected him, grinning again.

'Oh?' he asked, cautiously, not at all sure he wanted to hear her response.

She smiled naughtily in response, catching him off-guard; he wasn't expecting that kind of look from her, a surge of jealously made him close his eyes against the pain.

'Oh,' he said again, with little emphasis.

Minerva was startled again. 'Albus?' she queried, coming forward to lay a gentle hand on his arm. 'Is something wrong?'

He opened his eyes and forced a twitch of his lips. 'No, no. Glad to see you so happy my dear.' The endearment was deliberately paternal. He strode past her and on down the stairs, her hand falling from his arm, leaving a strange desire in her heart to hear the words, "My Minerva" from his lips again.

* * *

June was nearing an end and exams were over, the students were starting celebrations and more than once, Minerva had been forced to curtail the late night parties after the noise began to resound down the corridors. She had just come from an excursion of such discipline when mid-way back to her quarters she decided instead to pay a surprise visit to Luigi; she quite fancied spending the night with him, rather than alone in her Hogwarts four poster bed.

She stopped long enough to grab her cloak and broomstick and flew down to the end of the drive so that she could disapparate safely into his London flat. It was a hot sultry night, and the stars were unveiled by any cloud, leaving the night bright and shadows long.

She apparated into his kitchen, and cat-like, with the idea of surprising him, she crept into his living room, heading for his bedroom; only he wasn't in his bedroom. He was lying on the rug in front of his fire, with another woman. Minerva stopped short and stared in blank horror; there was absolutely no question about the nature of their relationship; the two of them weren't wearing any more clothing than the rug wrinkling beneath their bodies.

'Hello Luigi,' she said loudly. 'Bad time?'

Luigi twisted his head around and looked mildly surprised to see her there. 'Minerva!'

The woman, a beautiful exotic woman with curves Minerva knew she could only dream of, didn't appear too embarrassed, she sat up as Luigi stood – unashamed of his nakedness – and folded her dark arms loosely over her ebony thighs.

'So this is the frigid British girl?' she asked conversationally.

Luigi ignored the comment and smiled at a now physically trembling Minerva. 'This is my wife,' he said. 'Just so you know I'm not having an affair.'

'_Your wife!'_ hissed Minerva, outraged. 'You're _married_?'

'Didn't I say?'

'What the hell were you doing with me, if you're _married_!?'

'Having a bit of fun!' Luigi laughed. 'What did you think Minny baby?'

It seemed he and his wife had no problem with the situation, but Minerva felt more than betrayed; she felt filthy.

His wife glanced at her appraisingly. 'I think she's in love with you, Luigi.'

Minerva closed her eyes; maybe if she took a moment, this would all be some ridiculous dream, and she and Luigi could laugh over it later.

'Minny!' exclaimed Luigi, widening his eyes in concern. 'You didn't think – I mean, seriously… you're lovely and all that but-' he stopped, raising his hands in mock apology. 'I'm sorry, Minny. I thought you knew.'

'How could I possibly know what you never told me!' snapped Minerva, biting off each word furiously. 'I'm not a bloody seer!'

There was an awkward pause in which Luigi and his wife exchanged glances and Minerva hovered between humiliation and sheer, uncontrollable rage.

'You said-' Minerva began desperately, but looking into Luigi's eyes she realised he had never meant any of it. 'You shallow son-of-a-bitch!' she accused instead.

'Minny baby, I didn't mean to hurt you,' he protested, body language innocent of any crime. 'I'm sorry you read more into it.'

'Don't come near me,' said Minerva, a lump in her throat and her eyes burning. 'Don't ever come near me again you bastard.'

She turned to apparate away, the last thing she heard was his beautiful wife saying:

'You didn't tell me she was so _bony!_'

* * *

A week later and Minerva was busy in her office scribbling reports, she was far ahead of schedule but didn't dare to leave a minute unfilled, terribly afraid that she would crack and start shrieking her broken heart the moment she paused to think on Luigi's horrendous duplicity and her own stupid _stupid_ actions.

Outside the summer continued relentlessly, an agony of clear skies and rippling green fields; the splashing of students in the lake echoed up through her open windows and she gritted her teeth at their oblivious cheerfulness. She wasn't eating; she wasn't sleeping; she spent every minute of every day and night determinedly working; she had lesson plans for the next five years; she had a filing system that was nigh perfect; and she was close to collapse.

Her office door creaked open, bringing with it a breath of flowers and summer heat, Gil's curly head poked around the door, looking for her.

'You have to stop, Min,' Gil said, walking in as Minerva continued to write, though her hand cramped and her vision swayed. 'You have to stop!'

'I'll just finish these reports,' Minerva murmured, giving Gil a brief, tight smile.

'No,' said Gil, gently. 'You won't, you'll carry on until you drop exhausted to the floor; you're driving yourself into the ground Minerva!'

Minerva shook her head, 'I'm fine, Gil, honest. I'll come out in a bit; just a few more reports.' Her hand continued to move across the parchment, her head bowed almost nose to nose with the ink.

Gil watched her for a minute, but Minerva did not cease writing.

'Okay,' Gil said finally. 'Okay.'

She left Minerva's office, but had no intention of leaving her friend to suffer; instead she strode with purpose toward the Headmaster's office, a grim look on her face.

Inside the Headmaster's office she faced a similar situation – much to her disgust – Dumbledore was doggedly signing the year reports, one by one by one.

'Luigi's married,' she said, without preamble. Dumbledore's quill stopped. 'Minerva walked in on them. Bastard hadn't said a thing.'

Dumbledore looked up, the beginnings of what looked like a truly impressive rage narrowing his eyes.

'Where does this Luigi live?' he asked tersely.

'I don't give a damn, and neither should you!' Gil cried. 'Minerva's on the brink of a nervous breakdown, and she won't listen to reason!'

His hands curled into fists on the desktop.

'She loves _you_,' Gil informed him, her eyes bright. 'She always has, she was just afraid it would hurt more to love you, than _him_.'

The Headmaster stared at her.

'She won't listen to me,' said Gil, sadly. 'But she _will_ listen to you!' She left abruptly, having said her piece, hoping desperately that he would act on her words; that he wouldn't leave Minerva alone with her aching heart.

* * *

Minerva was still hard at it when her office door creaked open again, presuming it was Gil, she didn't stop her efforts to write away every memory of her time with Luigi; footsteps crossed to her desk and then paused.

'Game of chess?' Albus Dumbledore asked, as nonchalantly as he could manage, seeing Minerva looking so awfully pale and drawn; she laid down her quill and felt her heart burning; her eyes watering.

'I - ah – I have to write these reports,' she told him, eyes fixed on what she had been writing, the words becoming blurred as she blinked frantically to clear the tears. With just three words Albus Dumbledore had managed what she had been desperately denying since that night.

'Gil told me,' he said honestly.

Minerva physically flinched.

'I killed one man because I had to; I'll kill this one because I want to,' he said, anger vibrating in his deep voice. 'Only Gil wouldn't give me his address.'

Minerva choked on a laugh that was half a sob.

'Why would you want to do that?' she asked.

'Because I thought I had given you up to the better man,' he revealed.

The burning sensation in Minerva's chest spread to her throat; she lifted her head to see him standing by her desk, his blue eyes fierce and forceful on hers.

'Do you think I'm bony?' she asked him suddenly, her heart in her eyes.

'I think you're perfect,' Albus Dumbledore replied quite seriously.

Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes, even as she swallowed against them.

'I've made such a fool of myself,' she whispered, ashamed.

'No,' he denied, shaking his head. 'He is the fool, Minerva.'

The tears began to fall in earnest.

'Albus,' she said, 'I've missed you so much!'

He walked around the table and caught a tear as it dropped from her chin.

'Here,' he said, and lifted her against him, holding her tightly as her thin body shook with repressed sobs. 'I'm here now, my Minerva.'

* * *

The Saturday night before the start of the last week of Minerva's first year in teaching, found Minerva happily ensconced once again in her favourite seat by Albus' living room fireplace (currently unlit in the warmth of summer nights) contemplating her next move on the chess board, and attempting to ignore her Knight's frantic attempts to point out Albus's Queen currently threatening him with brutal extinction.

She had flipped off her work shoes, folded her legs beneath her and unwound her hair from its tight bun; Albus was watching her tilt her head at various angles to better assess the situation on the board, with a small smile on his lips. She felt his eyes on her and looked up to raise an eyebrow challengingly:

'Yes?' she demanded of him.

'What?' he said, his smile growing broader at her haughty demeanour.

'Why are you staring at me, Albus? If you're trying to put me off, it won't work.'

'And why is that?' Though he had been trying to do no such thing, he humoured her accusation in hopes of light banter.

Minerva paused, it had only been a little over a week since Albus had wiped tears from her face and held her as she wept her broken heart out but they had returned to their previous ease of companionship almost straight away, but she hadn't forgotten his words, or his whispered, "My Minerva". The memory of it was enough to send her asleep with a smile on her face and send thoughts of Luigi to the depths of an oblivious cess-pit, but still, _still_ she was not sure how the man felt about her – except to know he felt _something_! It was frustrating. It was tantalising. Well, she wasn't beyond teasing.

'Because I don't mind,' she said.

Albus Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat, his robes accidentally knocking the chess board, causing the tiny figures to shake their fists and shout as they wobbled precariously; Albus's Queen eyed Minerva's Knight speculatively, making the Knight scream for assistance in a tiny, totally ignored voice.

'And why is _that_?' he asked, proving to her that he, too, could play this game.

'Because you, Albus Dumbledore, are _not_ a "Buh",' Minerva said, reminding him of their very first chess game.

'Am I not?' he asked, and though his smile was very small now, there was a heat in his gaze that made Minerva swallow hard.

'No,' she said, a clever answer failing to come to mind.

Albus Dumbledore sat still, watching her slightly flushed face; wishing he could think of a reason to move closer to her, wishing even, that he had the courage to stand, pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless; for an old Lion, he suddenly felt bereft of bravery. And there was the question of Luigi, he reminded himself with an inward grimace, she had only recently broken up with the bastard, and was surely not looking for romance in the form of a much older, less virile man.

His gaze had fallen from her face: he looked her straight in the eyes, 'It's your move,' he reminded her quietly, but he wasn't talking about the chess game.

Minerva tilted her head sideways, her face considering, not entirely sure whether he had said what he had said in the manner she thought he had said it in, at which point she almost lost track of the original thought.

'I don't know what move to make,' she told him, hoping they were on the same page.

'You don't have to make any move,' he assured her, worrying that he was pushing her.

'I want to,' she answered quickly.

'Then-' he began, but failed to continue, his rather dry mouth suddenly seeming incapable of forming key words that had never troubled him before.

'If I make the wrong move,' said Minerva, filling the gap. 'I might lose.'

Albus shook his head. 'No,' he said, the word cracking in his throat, much to his irritation. This was _not_ a time he wanted to become a monosyllabic buffoon. 'I think the outcome is assured.'

Minerva stared at him, his words making the tiny seed of hope she had kept fairly well buried in her heart, suddenly grow into a huge dragon, breathing flames into her cheeks and lighting sparks in her eyes. She took a deep breath, and, keeping her eyes steadfast on his, uncurled her legs to set her feet onto the floor, her hands pushed against the armrests as she went to rise: Albus hardly breathing as he watched and prayed and loved.

Her knee knocked the chess board and the figurines yelled again in fury, Minerva's knight screamed hopelessly as Albus' Queen took advantage of the commotion to put a rather abrupt end to his terminal suspense. Minerva broke eye contact with Albus as she turned to look at the board; the spell was broken, and Albus closed his eyes briefly in regret as she was distracted from him.

'Your Queen took my Knight!' Minerva exclaimed. 'The cheeky minx!'

She looked up at him, laughing and he was forced to laugh with her.

The moment was lost; Minerva returned to her contemplation of the game, and Albus tried to return his composure, and when next she turned to him, having triumphantly placed him in check, he was the same genial Headmaster as always. He examined the board, frowning thoughtfully.

'It seems you've won the game, my dear.'

* * *

'Would you _watch_ where you're going!' cried Minerva desperately, rounding on one of her second year boys, who had just walked into her.

'Sorry Professor,' he blushed.

She rolled her eyes and turned around at the noise of a commotion in front of her. The foyer in front of the Great Hall and the front doors of the castle was full of her Gryffindors, all in various states of disarray and confusion, their trunks and owls, toads and cauldrons littered untidily across the floor.

'Miss Mougal! What is going on here?' she demanded to know, weaving her way through abandoned trunks and discarded personal items to the Seeker's position in the general melee.

'Uh,' grimaced Maddy Mougal, looking faintly embarrassed. 'My trunk won't close, Professor.'

'I can see that!' said Minerva. Half of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were currently bouncing on the lid of her trunk; they stopped as Minerva cast them an acerbic eye, and looked sheepish. 'Why don't you try re-packing?' she suggested mildly, trying not to laugh.

It seemed she hadn't been quite successful in hiding her amusement, for the team grinned at her as they slid from the lid to help Maddy pull out robes and shoes, her broom (how had she thought to fit _that_ in there?), what looked like a stack of cauldron pasties, now mashed into a pair of socks, and what, Minerva thought with a sigh, looked like her Transfiguration textbook.

She turned around as a colossal bang and several successive crashes, made the caged owls squawk and several students scream, and saw Darius Black watching his trunk bounce down the steps to the front doors and burst open at the bottommost. He looked around hopefully and was somewhat crestfallen to see that his Head of House had noticed; Minerva skipped over a pair of shoes tango-ing ownerless around a Witch's hat (equally without owner) and strode purposefully, if cautiously toward the hapless miscreant.

'Well?' she asked, finding it hard not to laugh again as Mr Black cringed guiltily.

'Oops?' he tried.

'Try again, Mr Black,' said Minerva dryly. She stepped aside neatly to avoid young Mr Weasley's sprinting form, and caught the fanged Frisbee he was leaping to catch.

'Um,' said Mr Weasley, attempting to look innocent, Minerva's face however obviously said this was a futile attempt on his part, and he tried a different tack. 'Nice catch, Professor!'

'Thank-you,' she said. 'But now that you're here, perhaps you could help Mr Black recover his belongings. Mr Black.'

'Yes, Professor,' they chanted, agreeably enough. Miss Cully ran past Minerva as she walked away.

'Where's the Frisbee?' she cried. 'You didn't _miss_ it did you?'

Minerva missed the next part as she slipped in some spilt frogspawn and spin wheeled ungracefully forward, to land, undignified, draped over Mr Eliot's trunk.

'You all right, Professor?' The Quidditch Captain asked her, helping her back to her feet.

'Just about,' she mumbled, wondering if it was possible to look any less professional.

The sound of feet on the stairs to the foyer made her look up to see, much to her irritation, the Ravenclaws, walking in crocodile formation down the stairs; each one with a closed trunk and with calm, caged pets. Elise Horner was following them demurely down the steps, her elegant robes with not so much as a smudge of ink, potion ingredient or pet hair, her face quite composed, and her long hair neatly braided and turned up. Minerva knew very well that her robes resembled an apothecary explosion of some magnitude and that her hair was currently making a very successful bid for freedom, with the result that her bun was resting on her left ear instead of atop her head.

'How the hell does she do it?' she muttered underneath her breath, and felt something heavy and wet sounding flop onto her foot. She looked down, resignedly, and saw a huge toad staring unblinkingly up at her with round, bulbous yellow eyes, they considered each other for a short moment, toad and Professor both silent, then the toad gave a loud croak and wisely decided to leap off; its hind legs popping it over and behind a small pile of dungbombs, one of which decided to go off.

The smell drove Minerva towards the Ravenclaws, now assembled by one of the great boars that stood in the hall, talking quietly amongst themselves and making Minerva want to take points for being annoyingly well-behaved. Elise strolled to meet her by a stack of cheddar cheese, for which Minerva had no explanation.

'Minerva,' said Elise sedately, nodding her head in greeting. 'I see your Gryffindors are being a bit of a handful.'

'A bit?' exclaimed Minerva desperately; and then laughed. 'It's chaos! How on _earth_ do you do it?'

'Experience,' Elise told her, a small smile curving her thin lips.

'Great,' sighed Minerva. 'How many years will it take me?'

Elise chuckled. 'You're doing fine,' she assured the younger Professor.

'Well, everyone and everything thing is still at least partially intact,' said Minerva, casting her eyes over her motley collection of pupils and noticing with a sigh that Maddy Mougal was still having trouble with her trunk. 'Excuse me,' she said to Elise, rolling her eyes discreetly. 'I have to go and impart pearls of wisdom before the Quidditch team break any limbs.'

'Come by my office later,' Elise called after her. 'I'll see what kernels of knowledge I can dredge up to share…'

When the carriages arrived and Maddy's trunk was finally locked shut, the students began to embark, the Ravenclaws ordered by responsible prefects and a Head of House who seemed to have a sixth sense for brewing disaster, and the Gryffindors with a general, uncontrollable surge, a great deal of noise and a Head of House who found herself swept up and along with them.

Actually, Minerva had to admit, as she watched Mr Black and Mr Weasley help Miss Cully heave her trunk into one of the last carriages, it was quite fun, exhausting, but well, _lively_.

'Having fun?' asked a deep voice from directly behind her.

'I bought you a bell,' said Minerva- startled again, - and not even turning around to look at the Headmaster. She reached into her robes and pulled out a cow bell, handing it to him without watching his expression – knowing she wouldn't be able to keep a straight face. 'It's from Austria; only the best, Albus.'

He took it in silence. 'And what will you do if I actually wear this, Minerva?' he ventured finally, smirking.

'Laugh at you,' she rejoined. 'But please don't…'

Miss Cully was running back up the front steps; she stopped, panting, in front of Minerva and Dumbledore.

'Professor,' she began, looking a little nervous. 'Can I write to you over the summer?'

Minerva was in a quandary, she didn't actually know the rules on student-teacher relations out of the school term; she turned to Dumbledore, who gave her the tiniest nod of affirmation.

'Yes, of course, Miss Cully. Are you going anywhere nice this summer?'

'I'm going to France with my parents,' Miss Cully replied, now beaming happily.

'Then I shall expect a postcard,' smiled Minerva. 'You had better go; Misters Black and Weasley are looking somewhat impatient.'

The girl spun around and took the steps two at a time; making her Head of House wince in anticipation of injury, but reached the bottom safely and was pulled up into the now moving carriage by her two friends, who were being glared at by superior-looking sixth years.

'And so ends another school year,' said Dumbledore, tucking away his new bell into his voluminous robes.

'And so it does,' agreed Minerva, feeling unaccountably sad.

'There will be others,' Dumbledore said, correctly interpreting her face.

Minerva watched the last carriages trundle bumpily down the track, and found herself already noticing how very quiet and empty the castle seemed without its normal population of noisy students.

'I have been advised,' began Dumbledore, 'that I should make my feelings in question to your lovely self, quite clear, so as to avoid confusion.'

Minerva frowned, but forbore to comment until she understood what he was on about; his phrasing was curiously formal, and out of sync with what comments the situation would seem to merit.

'I am, of course, your humble servant,' he said.

'Humble, my hat!' snorted Minerva, grinning; she was watching the Giant Squid waving tentacles at the leaving students, its great splattering gestures somehow eponymous with the feeling of finality, the sudden lack of purpose to her life.

'My feelings for you are uncomplicated and true,' Albus said, moving closer, so that his words were murmured close to her ear.

Inside her chest Minerva's heart began to quicken, she concentrated on breathing as her head was swept ruthlessly clean of rational thought, and she thought suddenly that she might know exactly what he was talking about.

'I hesitate to use these words; for fear and lack of courage would steal them from my tongue, if not my heart,' Albus continued.

There was a very pregnant pause, the carriages had rolled beyond vision, and yet the Professors remained standing on the topmost step before the great front doors; Minerva looking out over the grounds, watching the sun glint on the now placid lake; Albus watching Minerva, his heart rather honestly in his throat.

'It seems, that old and foolish as I am, I have been unable to stop myself from harbouring …' he paused, his courage failing him. 'A – desire to be more than your friend, my Minerva. To be a -' but this time his courage really did fail him, and he stopped.

There was a moment where Minerva thought she might scream, but the ability to utilise the linguistic faculty of her brain seemed to have frozen. His words were wrecking havoc inside her, his desire to be more than her friend were the words she had waited a year for him to say, so many moments where they had been intimate, had flirted and teased, had lightly kissed – yet he had always pushed her away – constantly hot and cold. Now, listening to his trailing words, she did not know how she felt, did not even know if she loved him still. She had thought never to hear them, had used Luigi to try and forget him, had almost made, what she had thought at the time, a terrible mistake at their chess game that week, and she had begun to resign herself to the possibility of never knowing, always unrequited, hidden love; which she hoped would suffocate and die without hope of fuel.

'Well,' he finished instead. 'Ah.'

He tried to make himself touch her arm, but her impassive silence unnerved him, and he was afraid she would shake him off. He turned instead, and with his heart thumping dreadfully in his ears he walked away.

Minerva felt him leave, _Oh Merlin, _she thought, the truth obliterating the murkiness in her mind, realising as he left her; _I can't _help_ myself from loving him. _She turned, wanting to say something to stop him, but nothing came to mind, she was still having trouble breathing, her lungs felt rattling in her chest, and her heart had swelled obscenely.

Albus however, had stopped by the entrance, and suddenly pirouetted on his heel to see her eyes on his departing figure.

Minerva smiled, a nervous yet heart-felt smile, trying to put everything she could not yet put into words into that one expression.

His steady gaze was solemn, his eyes shadowed, but as she smiled with a faint blush rising, his expression lightened and he gave her a shadow of a wink, unadorned relief making his features younger, lighter, and glad. The naked emotion in his face was revealing; his words may have been romantic, but his expression took her breath away.

He swept his wizards hat from his head and flourished it in the most extravagant bow Minerva had ever seen, before swirling his robes and walking away with a distinct bounce in his step, and the ring of a bell in his robes.

* * *

_A/N: I know the majority of this isn't up to the standard of my previous chapters - but it improves toward the end, and hopefully the _actual_ final chapter will be back up to par! Apologies - bear with me, edits may be made! _

_I've had spectacular reviews for this fic, and your patience has been remarkable, __**thank you!**_

CC


	6. Chapter six

_Author: This is (I swear) the penultimate chapter, it was supposed to be the last, but Damn Albus kept throwing a spanner in the works, and before I knew it, it was too long to continue as one chapter. I have no intention of leaving such a long gap between this and the next chapter, so expect it in the next few weeks._

Thanks to my Betas - Diana Hawthorne and McGonagallsGirl, without whom I would be without _hair!_

* * *

.

**Nouveau**

Chapter Six

Professor Elise Horner opened the French doors into her office and sat on the small balcony in the sunshine, enjoying a refreshing glass of lemonade. She flipped off her shoes and wriggled her toes contentedly in the warmth.

At the knock on her door she called out cheerfully: 'Come in, Minerva!'

Minerva McGonagall entered and was immediately envious of the older Professor's access to a balcony.

'Come; join me,' ordered Elise, amiably.

'I'm jealous,' said Minerva, grinning as she took the spare wicker seat. 'I don't have anything as lovely as this!'

'It is rather wonderful,' smiled Elise. 'Lemonade?' She reached across to the large glass jug sat fat and gleaming yellow on the small round table between them.

'Yes, please!' said Minerva. 'I'm thirsty as a vampire on a solid diet!'

Elise handed her a tall glass, icy cold in Minerva's rather hot hand, she gratefully took a large gulp and immediately felt her tongue explode and her eyes water. It was so sharp she feared her throat was seared beyond recovery. She swallowed with some effort and blinked hard to clear the tears of pain.

'Sharp!' she managed, gasping.

Elise was watching the clouds drifting lazily above the gently waving tree tops of the forbidden forest. 'I find all that tooth-rotting pop children drink these days to be quite sickly,' she said, taking another sip from her own glass.

'Yes,' said Minerva, sticking out her tongue to try and see if she still had taste buds. 'It can be.'

Elise suddenly turned back to her, and Minerva quickly pulled her tongue back in and hoped her eyes weren't still watering.

'So how has your first year of teaching been?' she inquired politely, but with a keen interest. She had watched the young Professor's progress charily throughout the year – always careful to keep her distance.

'Eventful,' admitted Minerva and then reconsidered. 'Well, no, I suppose the year itself has been fine. My personal life on the other hand…'

'I heard you were dating a handsome Italian man,' Elise told her.

Minerva scowled, and took another sip; the drink preferable to thinking about Luigi.

'Yes, I thought so,' mused Elise, understanding the young woman's expression.

'Teaching itself has been rewarding, even fun,' said Minerva, resolutely changing the topic.

'Excellent,' murmured Elise, in quiet approval. 'You'll be staying with us then?'

'Oh yes, I think so,' Minerva confirmed, a secret little smile playing on her lips as she thought of Albus's words less than an hour ago.

'I am pleased,' Elise told her, genuinely. 'I believe that next year we will finally have a faculty worthy of such a school as Hogwarts.'

'Filius Flitwick seems to be a very capable man,' said Minerva, nodding.

'And Albus and I have found some one to fill the Defence Against the Dark Arts position.'

'Really?' asked Minerva, curious. 'Who?'

'Professor Merrythought. She's older than Sendar by quite some years, but has a good grounding in both teaching the subject and on a practical level. Then of course we have you – quite a success with the students.'

'Thank you,' said Minerva, blushing. Elise smiled and refilled her glass.

'Incidentally, Albus has asked me to become Deputy Headmistress.' Elise watched her closely; but Minerva was nothing but honestly delighted, having spared no thoughts on the vacancy for herself.

'Oh that's superb, Elise! I have no doubt you will do a brilliant job!' Minerva grinned and raised her glass.

'Well, after Michaelmas, anyone could,' responded Elise dryly, chinking her glass against Minerva's, and rather chuffed that the younger woman obviously thought so highly of her.

Minerva laughed, 'Now there's someone I'm not ashamed to say I _won't_ miss!'

'Harrumph,' snorted Elise, disparagingly. 'Onto more pleasant thoughts – any plans for the summer?'

'Gosh, no,' realised Minerva, taking a very small sip of her lemonade. 'I've been so frantic with end of term preparations I hadn't given any thought to it. You?'

'I'm having Evelyn for two weeks; my son and his wife are looking forward to a break in the Maldives. Alone.' She chuckled, 'I have no idea what we're going to do together, but I did think a trip to London Zoo might be in order!'

Minerva grinned. 'Big cats, I love lions.'

'I should think you would!'

'I think I'll spend some time with my sister,' Minerva thought aloud, watching the shadow of a bird flitter across the tiled balcony floor.

'I know Albus has to attend the International Wizarding Confederation, and numerous other conferences, all of which I think he's looking forward to as much as he looks forward to his meetings with the Minister,' Elise informed her wickedly.(Perhaps something more decidedly awful than the Minister, like eating his vegetables or having a root canal.)

Minerva's stomach turned over at the mention of the name of a man who had just recently declared his interest in her.

'I'm sure he'd enjoy an excuse to take a proper holiday,' said Elise pointedly.

Minerva glanced at the older lady sharply, but Elise's face was quite blank.

'After all,' continued that lady blithely, 'it is important to rest up from work once in a while. We shouldn't like our Headmaster to become overworked.'

'No we shouldn't,' agreed Minerva, suspiciously.

'Well, then,' finished Elise, clinking her glass back onto the table. 'I expect you'll have a lovely holiday, and be quite as dismal as the students to realise yet another school year beckons.'

'Um,' said Minerva, feeling rather transparent

'I shall see you before you leave?' Elise asked.

'Of course,' reassured Minerva, standing as she took her cue to leave.

'Good,' beamed Elise, standing and, much to Minerva's surprise, briefly hugging her. 'I've enjoyed your company, Minerva,' Elise added, sitting down again, and feeling somewhat discomforted at her own unexpected gesture of warmth. She stretched her feet out again as she heard her office door click shut quietly, and a rather devious little smile crossed her narrow face.

'Good,' she repeated to blue skies and disintegrating clouds. 'Good.'

* * *

Back in her rooms, Minerva chucked a generous handful of Floo powder into her hastily lit fire, knelt with a grimace on the hard stone floor, and fixed her face into an ingratiating smile.

'Murray Manor!' she cried, half choking on the green powder. A rush of unfamiliar fireplaces and then a sudden, head-wrenching stop, found her looking at the abandoned sitting room of her sister's home. 'Damn it,' she grumbled. 'Buffers!' she called out. There was a loud crack and the old house elf popped into existence with a tea towel draped over his arm, ear whiskers impeccably brushed.

'Professor McGonagall!' beamed the house elf. 'I shall alert your sister to your presence immediately.'

'Please do,' Minerva muttered, a kink in her neck starting.

For once it didn't take Ceci long to arrive, she smiled at Minerva's head and crouched down.

'Hello little sister.'

'Hi, Ceci. The summer holidays have arrived and I'm free and bored.'

'That's a lovely way of asking yourself to stay,' said Ceci wryly.

'Thank you.'

'Hang on!' exclaimed Ceci. 'I haven't said you _can_!'

Minerva gave her sister a look of mock horror. 'Ceci! You wouldn't toss me out on my ear? Homeless, abandoned, unwanted by loved ones?'

Ceci rolled her eyes. 'I'm sure you could stay with that _lovely_ Italian man you've taken up with - again.'

Minerva flinched, but was somewhat surprised to find it didn't hurt as much as she had expected. 'I could if he hadn't taken up with someone else.'

'Don't say I didn't warn you!' Ceci admonished sharply.

'You _didn't_!' protested Minerva, annoyed.

'Oh,' her sister responded, nonplussed. 'Well, you should have taken up with Albus Dumbledore, now _there's_ a gentleman. He wouldn't have –'

'Yes, _thank_ you Ceci,' snapped Minerva, well aware of her failings in that area.

'Well..!' muttered Ceci shirtily.

'Can we start over?' sighed Minerva. 'Please, dear sister, may I spend some of this summer at your lovely country mansion?'

Cecilia pursed her lips, and then gave in. 'Of course you may. You may even bring a guest, should you so desire.'

'A guest?' pondered Minerva aloud.

'Male _or_ female,' clarified Ceci archly. Minerva blushed. 'Ah, so Albus Dumbledore _is_ still in the running!'

'He is _not!'_ rejoined Minerva furiously. 'Well, no, I mean, yes he is.'

'You could still manage a spring wedding,' frowned Ceci, looking off into the distance. 'It would be a rush, of course, but I know this fabulous florist in Diagon Alley...'

'_Cecelia_!' Minerva screamed, her floo pot fell unnoticed, with a crash, to her floor and scattered floo granules in a sticky pool over her favourite rug.

'What?' asked her sister, unaware of crimes committed.

'I'm not even _dating_ the man! I never will if you keep leaping ahead like this!'

'What's wrong with wanting a spring wedding?' asked Ceci demurely.

'I'm not getting married!' cried a despairing Minerva. 'That's what's wrong with it!'

Ceci threw up her hands in mock defeat. 'Fine, fine!' she conceded. 'Bring whom you will, if you will, when you will.'

'_Thank_ you,' breathed Minerva, and pulled her head from the fire.

* * *

A postcard from Josephine Cully had arrived for Minerva; it lay on her golden plate at the breakfast table, brazenly flashing different angles of the Eiffel tower, platters of croissants and men in berets with striped shirts, it was as touristy as a postcard is expected to be and Miss Cully had written enthusiastically of the sun and the swimming pool and the new friend (from Germany).

David Hawthorne pulled the chair out beside Minerva and slouched in it with a grimace, Minerva grinned at him; her week had started well with Albus, and continued so.

'Good Morning David,' she greeted chirpily.

'Hurrumph,' he grunted in response, scraping butter onto toast with jerky strokes.

Gil took the seat next to him and winked at Minerva. 'How unlike you David, to be so grumpy, pray tell, dear lad, whatever is the cause of this unlikely attitude?'

Unimpressed by Gil's mocking, David scowled still deeper, shoulders bunching. Elise Horner was seated further along, and in a hall without students, conversation easily carried.

'Leave the man alone, young woman,' Elise reprimanded, not without a hint of humour. 'He's had bad news.'

'Oh no!' cried Gil, lifting hands to face with wide eyes, glinting wickedly. 'Whatever could this bad news be?'

Minerva had begun to realise that this was a ritual she was not yet privy to, but which was exercised each year without fail, it had the well-practised rhythm of a rehearsed routine.

'You bloody well know, you infernal woman,' grunted David, through a mouthful of half masticated toast.

Gil giggled. 'But I must profess ignorance, kind sir, and ask your assistance in alleviating my concern!'

'Now Gil,' tutted Professor Horner, lifting the cranberry juice and pouring herself some, 'leave the poor man in peace, it's the last he'll get for some time!'

Professor Hawthorne groaned in what sounded like near despair and buried his head, and his wild black hair in his big hands, the nails as always, grimy with the soil he worked with.

'Alas!' sighed Gil, melodramatically, 'I fear tis true, I cannot help this gentle stranger!'

Minerva snorted into her orange juice, and a deep baritone from behind her suddenly asked:

'Miss Aldridge, have you consumed some strange potion to make you speak in mutilated yore?'

Gil turned puce and guiltily faced the headmaster who was stood with a quizzical expression on his intelligent face.

'Just seeking to help David deal with his unfortunate circumstances, Headmaster,' she explained lightly, shrugging.

'Ah, of course!' said the Headmaster as if that clarified the matter sufficiently. 'I cannot believe I had forgotten. Is it today then?'

As David refused to lift his head from his twitching hands, Gil and Elise both nodded for him.

'Hmmm,' hummed Dumbledore ponderously, as he sat and reached for the Cauldron Crunch, 'you poor man.'

Minerva's eyebrows were disappearing into her hairline, '_What_ is going on?'

The other professors shared a smile over the prostrate David's head.

'Every year, on the same day, David's sister insists he come to stay with her for at least part of the summer holidays,' explained Elise.

'Well, what's so bad about that?' queried Minerva, confused.

'She's … talkative,' said Gil, smirking.

David snorted.

'She has eight children,' added Elise.

'She lives in the city,' added Gil. Minerva shrugged, mystified, Albus mouthed _No Garden_.

'She tries to set him up with single women who also talk a lot,' chuckled Gil.

'Makes him clean his nails,' said Elise, casting an eye over her own.

'Cuts his hair,' said Gil.

'Lectures about his career choices.'

'Gives parties for him.'

'Won't let him smoke.'

'-Or drink!'

'Takes family pictures of them on outings.'

'Darns his socks.'

'Tuts over his dress sense.'

'Takes him shopping.'

'STOP!' roared David, looking positively petrified. 'I do NOT need a preview!' He turned to look at Minerva. 'I hate it!' he proclaimed. '_Hate it_!'

Minerva grinned. 'Then don't go,' she said sensibly.

'Have to,' he grumbled. 'If I go in summer, I get Christmas to myself.'

* * *

.

The end of that first week of freedom from the students found Minerva and Gil sitting on a rock by the edge of the lake, dangling their bare legs in the cool water, skirts hitched up to their thighs, exchanging gossip and news. The idyllic summer weather had infused everyone with a sense of lazy contentment and happy plans, and so it was that their conversation naturally turned to the men in their life.

'If I tell you this – you have to promise not to be mad!' warned Gil, wagging a finger at the transfiguration professor who cheekily responded:

'No promises!'

Gil childishly stuck out her tongue. 'I think Marcus is going to ask me to marry him!'

'Wow!' squeaked Minerva, mouth dropping open. '_No_! Are you sure?'

'He keeps talking about what he imagines the future to be. You know; children, a home, a wife…'

Minerva wrinkled her nose in distaste. 'You're not a _Little Woman_!'

'I know that!' Gil protested. 'And I'm sure he does too! I think he's just been trying to find out how I feel about the idea.'

'And how do you?' Minerva prodded curiously.

The petite school nurse took a deep breath and kicked her feet in the water; ripples spread out in half moons and were disturbed by the giant squid sliding slick and cool beneath.

'Well?' Minerva pushed.

'I-' Gil began and faltered. 'Oh Min, I really like it! I love him!' She turned to beam at Minerva, whose face felt forced into an answering smile. 'I can't imagine life without him!' She took Minerva's hands in her own. 'Am I being completely foolish?'

Minerva swallowed past the lump in her throat, 'No, of course not. You're in love.'

'He's taking me out tonight, he won't tell me where, but I think he's going to ask, tonight!'

'Wow!' Minerva gasped. 'This is so – wow!'

'I know! I know! I'm so excited! And nervous!' And she was, Gil's face was flushed with happiness, she looked ten years younger with her red curls bouncing around her normally sensible, practical visage.

'Just one question,' said Minerva thoughtfully. 'What are you doing here if you have to get dressed to be proposed to tonight?'

Gil looked blank with horror. 'You're right!' she exclaimed. 'I have to bathe and dress and have a calming tonic!' she laughed a touch hysterically, and impulsively hugged Minerva.

'Just do me one favour-' said Minerva as her friend stood to leave, shaking wet feet in splattering drops across the rock. 'Don't drink that tonic you gave Queenie Shimault, that was pure whisky and you know it! I've never seen such an unusual rendition of _Singing__ in the __Rain_!'

Gil snorted. 'Served her right, she was being so bloody snobby, ancient runes blah blah blah!' She grinned impishly and leapt up onto the bank, her small form lithe and dancing across the green grounds of Hogwarts. Minerva watched her become smaller and smaller against the shadow of the castle, and then watched her toes, wrinkled white, distorted under the surface, and denied the tiny green voice that cried envy.

The next morning Minerva woke feeling sick, without a clue why. The day was just as perfect as yesterday, but when she tied back her curtains and opened her windows, she felt irritated by the cloudless blue sky and the distant forest, green and predictably leafy. She refused to analyse why butterflies scattered the hunger in her stomach and why her mouth was so dry as she entered the great hall for breakfast, and saw that everybody had abandoned their usual seating arrangement to cluster in a noisy group around red curls and tall blond hair.

Gil saw her through their various colleagues and squealed loudly, flourishing her left hand and her new jewellery, for a moment that horrified her Minerva felt jealousy so strong she wanted to hurt Gil and take that happiness for herself. But the moment passed and for its viciousness Minerva was doubly excited and eager, mingling and hugging, with Gil's hand in her arm and Marcus's slightly stunned smile looming over most of the crowd.

* * *

That night Minerva had one of her worst nightmares ever. She was back in Grindelwald's lair lying on the floor, still crippled by the effects of the cruciatus curse, Blundell was blown backwards by the severing curse, crying and groaning, and she was forcing herself to crawl, fingernail by fingernail, across the cold stone floor to help him as the refracted curses of Albus Dumbledore and Grindelwald's duelling flashed and sparked and exploded over them. She finally made it to his side, and she was shouting, _You're going to be okay, you're going to be fine, look at me, you're going to be okay_ but when she lifted his head it was Gil's face, bloody and torn gaping desperately up at her, Gil groaning and screaming. Then the great boom that burst her eardrums and shattered her right thigh bone, and the curses stopped, and Grindelwald was dead, still grinning maniacally. Only it wasn't Grindelwald, it was Marcus O'Reiuss, and Gil was screaming for him as she died and died and died.

When she woke from that she was screaming, and didn't even know that the sound torn in agony from her throat was her own, she was soaked in sweat and shaking so hard her vision wobbled with it. She crawled from her bed and to her fireplace and cried out Albus's name as she threw floo powder into the embers and fell through.

Albus Dumbledore was still up, sat in his pyjamas reading a letter from the Ministry, and when Minerva stumbled into his sitting room he was shocked beyond words to see her so distraught, her nightdress soaked and clinging to her shivering body. She was incoherent in her distress, she just reached for him, and he let the ministry missive drop to the floor as he leapt to his feet to catch her as she fell.

He lifted her slight form into his arms and took her through to his bedchamber where he lay her on the bed, then curled his long body around hers, pulling the blankets around them both. All the time murmuring reassuring words in his deep calm voice though inside a desperate panic pulled at his guts and wrung him raw.

After a while, Minerva came back to herself enough to realise where she was and how she was behaving, she stopped sobbing and took heaving breaths to try and calm herself, still shivering as if in shock. She held Albus's arms, wrapped tightly around her, and he pulled her around to look at him, his eyes worried.

'It was just a nightmare,' she finally managed to get out.

'That was not "just" a nightmare, my Minerva,' he disagreed gently. 'Tell me about it.'

She told him about it, all of it, even the fact that Gil and Marcus had replaced Blundell and Grindelwald. She felt a little foolish then, and told him so, admitted how she envied them and their love, confessed how she felt guilty for her childish jealously, revealed how often she relived that dreadful night in the ruins of Grindelwald's hide-out. And his eyes did not judge and his embrace did not falter, and when she finished with one long shaky breath, she did not feel ashamed to have him know this.

'I'm sorry I never asked about the nightmares sooner,' he sighed. 'I meant to.'

'It's not your fault!' Minerva pointed out, feeling a little more like herself.

Albus Dumbledore raised one hand to lift a strand of sweaty hair from her face and tuck it behind one ear, Minerva blushed.

'I'm all sticky,' she groaned. 'And I'm in your bed!'

'I'll ask the house elves to change the bedding,' he said, smirking slightly; she rolled her eyes. 'Shall I draw you a bath?' he suggested. 'I have some fabulous bubbles!'

Minerva laughed. 'Yes please! I feel filthy, and I expect your tub is bigger than mine!'

He sat up, relinquishing his hold on her, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, 'Stay put,' he murmured, and leant towards her as she turned back towards him, and somehow a kiss meant for her forehead landed on her mouth, a soft touch sweeter than any embrace. It was balm to her wounded spirit, and the always lonely Headmaster looked a little shell-shocked as he withdrew.

'Bath?' Minerva reminded him, when after a moment he was still staring at her.

'Oh yes, right, of course,' that man nodded, and as he strode from the room, Minerva realised with her own smirk, that that was the first time she had ever seen him blush.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since that night, and most of the staff of Hogwarts had left for their summer holidays. The groundskeeper Ogg was still there, pottering around the castle, mumbling under his breath about the damage the students had wreaked. Gil and Marcus had left to visit their respective families and break the news of their engagement and only Minerva and Albus were left living in the huge castle.

Minerva, in fact, had no idea why she was dragging her heels so. She was welcome at her sister's anytime, welcome to visit Elise Horner, the Head of Ravenclaw, invited to stay with George Hall, the recently departed flying instructor and perfectly free to take herself off to an unseen corner of the world – had even been invited to a War memorial event. The Headmaster, with whom she shared the evening meal with every night, was off to the international wizarding confederation on the morrow (this year to be held in Ukraine) and had been looking distinctly glum about the prospect, but after he had gone – did she really intend on hanging around lonesome in a building as massive and as empty as the school?

It was time she took herself in hand and got decisive! She would pack her bags today, and tomorrow, when Albus left, she would take herself off to her sister's and give Ceci the chance to bemoan her wardrobe, her weight and, no doubt, her love life.

Having decided this, Minerva McGonagall, who detested packing _more_ than she detested cleaning (which was considerable!) decided that now would be an excellent time to dust her classroom. She tied an old handkerchief around her hair, put on a faded blue shirt, several sizes too big (in fact, she could not recall ever buying it, and why would she in a size Large?) twisted it up in the time honoured fashion to reveal a belly shockingly pale next to her bronzed arms, and dug around for her old garden trousers, loose and saggy in all the wrong places. Thus attired, fabulously unfashionably, she tore a tablecloth that decidedly did not yet deserve such treatment into rags, and found a tin of furniture polish in the sideboard. Chuffed at her achievements, she set off with a cheerful vim normally reserved for Quidditch matches to dust her classroom into a glossy glow of good reports and exceptional learning.

Unfortunately her classroom looked a lot bigger when viewed with an eye towards cleaning. Shelves ran up all the walls that did not have windows, filled with books and a miscellanea of objects to be transfigured by seven ages of pupil, the only blank bit of wall was to the side of her desk where the blackboards still displayed the many messages scribbled there by her many students for a happy holiday and so on.

Still, she was not to be defeated, and undaunted, well maybe a little daunted, she swung her class room windows wide to let in the summer air, cast wingardium leviosa to lift the polish and duster, then swiftly shape-changed, and as a cat, leapt to the top of the bookshelves from the window sill in one easy, fluid jump.

It was rather cramped on the top shelf in her human form, and rather precarious, but a cat hadn't the thumbs for polish tins and dusters and she felt much as she had as a child, climbing trees, with her legs dangling, one arm clinging on and one energetically flourishing the rag. She whistled as she edged along and discovered errant paperclips and scuttling spiders, in truth there wasn't much dust, the house elves were admirably thorough, but every shelf felt like a minor triumph and an hour had passed without her realising, but for swapping her aching arms and using far too much of the polish.

Albus Dumbledore, feeling lonely and in need of company, came looking for her, without her noticing, he crept up beneath her swinging, whistling form and said loudly:

'You're a little late for spring cleaning!'

It was so unexpected that Minerva, who had imagined herself entirely alone by several floors, let go her grip with an exclamation, fell off the shelves and flattened poor Albus standing, in hindsight, foolishly right under her.

Minerva was quite all right; after all, her fall had been softened by another body, but Albus was out cold.

'Oh my God!' cried Minerva, justifiably horrified. She reached for the prostrate man's wrist and felt for a pulse; it was reassuringly steady. 'Albus?' she called, tentatively.

Behind closed eyes the Headmaster was quite conscious, and very devious. 'Albus?' Minerva said again, with a hand on his chest and one stroking his head and the imagined bump, her voice shook. _Enough_, thought the Headmaster, though his head did ache sorely, and pursed his lips and whistled _Pop goes the weasel!_

He was lucky Minerva had been in such good spirits, for otherwise his rear would have been cursed bouncing down the school driveway, he opened his eyes to find an un-amused Minerva with one eyebrow arched in fine disdain.

'Flowers and chocolates?' he suggested quickly, her expression did not change. 'My finest marble chess set?' Her eyebrow lowered. 'The recipe for my hot chocolate?' She smiled, he sat up with a wince, which she noticed but failed to find sympathy for.

'Come with me to my sister's,' she said.

Albus looked at her, surprised, 'Really?' he questioned, his heart beating louder than the throb in his head.

'Really,' she repeated firmly, and offered him a hand as she stood. 'Come for a holiday, after you're done in Ukraine.'

He took her hand to stand, but did not relinquish it. His thoughts were on her motivation behind the invitation, but her face was a mystery to him, and he wished, yet again, that he had the courage to be honest with her about his own.

'There's one problem,' he said seriously, frowning.

'What is it?'

'What about Fawkes?'

'Bring him with you,' she said, relieved that he had been joking, disappointed that he not used the moment to – to what? To be passionate and loving? To declare his undying love for her? Why was she always disappointed with Albus, and simultaneously always relieved?

'Then I accept, gratefully and humbly,' he bowed and lifted her hand briefly to his lips, as his head throbbed and Minerva's heart whispered doubts of its own intent.

* * *

That night as Minerva was throwing clothing haphazardly onto her bed, ready for visiting her sister, Albus Dumbledore was pacing his study floor, absentmindedly tapping a quill against his crooked nose; every so often he would pause, heave a heavy sigh, and then resume his pacing. Fawkes watched from his perch, his head swaying to and fro, watching his companion's activities with some bemusement.

Finally Albus Dumbledore heaved a particularly heavy sigh and threw himself backwards into his armchair, his limbs sprawled, his beard frizzy, the quill sticking indignantly out of the auburn, a sagging flag of normality.

_Minerva, Minerva, Minerva, _Albus thought with some despair. 'The year is over, Fawkes!' he cried aloud to the great bird. 'My love is not!'

Fawkes began to look distinctly annoyed, he clacked his beak; Albus ignored him, thoroughly caught up in his melodramatics.

'_What_ is a man to do?'

He sighed again; Fawkes croaked and pulled his ruby wings over his head.

'Chocolate,' Dumbledore murmured, with an air of finality. 'Chocolate will always ease a troubled heart!' He stood suddenly and strode towards the door. '_Chocolate!'_

In her rooms, Minerva was feeling somewhat disgruntled. She hated packing. She had nothing decent to wear. Her sister would be wearing all the latest fashions from Diagon Alley, Paris and New York, and would make short shrift of Minerva's minimalistic wardrobe. She sunk back onto the bed and stretched her arms out over her head.

'Chocolate!' she decided. 'Chocolate will ease the troubles of packing!'

She jumped up and set off immediately.

The kitchen was deserted- just the way Albus liked it. He swung open the tiny larder door and looked hopefully into the depths of Hogwarts food reserves. Far, far down one of the aisles, he thought he saw the emblem of Honeydukes, and, rubbing his hands together he stepped with alacrity into the larder, walking briskly down to his promised prize. Unfortunately the larder door swung shut with a quiet click behind him, and left him in absolute blackness. With a sinking feeling he recalled his wand, upright in his inkwell, upstairs in his office.

Minerva tickled the pear and vaulted into the kitchen, feeling unaccountably full of beans. The kitchen was shiny and totally deserted – thankfully! She skipped over to the tiny larder door (optimum height for a house elf) eased it open like a naughty schoolgirl and slipped inside. There was a click and she was plunged into darkness. _Drat_, she thought, patting down her robes for her wand. 'I know you're here somewhere!' she declared loudly.

Albus Dumbledore, somewhat further down the aisle was very astonished to hear Minerva's voice proclaim confidently that she knew where he was, that she even knew he was there was cause for thought. He strolled back up the aisle, towards the rustlings of Minerva's robes, hands outstretched blindly towards her slender form.

'I _know_ you're here!' repeated Minerva, as her attempts to find her wand, and therefore light, were unsuccessful.

Albus caught a waft of Minerva's perfume, and realised with pleasure that she was still wearing the lavender one he found so pleasant, he breathed in deeply.

Minerva froze, someone or some_thing_ was breathing heavily nearby. She grappled with her suddenly excessive robes, frantic to find her wand.

Albus stepped up cheerfully. '_Minerva_,' he said, his deep voice rolling down the aisles of the larder, throbbing in the cavernous space.

Minerva screamed. Albus recoiled.

'Wha-?' he began, but Minerva flailed about with her fists hitting his chest, paralysing his lungs and his access to air. He grabbed at her fists to stop her hitting him but her momentum carried her forwards, onto him, and he fell backwards into a cask of …flour? It tipped over with their weight, a huge heavy barrel with iron rings crashing to the floor, soft powder dusting their faces and souring their tongues as the flour was expelled in a great cloud that lingered vaguely in the dark. A split-second later and Albus realised the danger, he rolled Minerva over, and out of the way as the barrel tumbled its leaden weight down the aisle.

Minerva's hands were still fisted against his chest, but pinned beneath her strange assailant a sense of the familiar had already told her she wasn't in danger, another moment and she recognised the tickle of Albus' beard, the leanness of his hard body and…was that the smell of Honeydukes chocolate on his rapid breath?

'You found the chocolate,' she said, somewhat vapidly.

'You didn't know I was here,' realised Albus aloud.

'No I didn't,' affirmed Minerva.

'Yes, I did,' said Albus.

There was a pause whilst their conscious thoughts struggled to process the dialogue.

'My need is greater than yours,' said Minerva sassily.

'I doubt it,' Albus disagreed.

'Why?'

'I was thinking about you,' he responded, solemnly.

The darkness prevented them from seeing each other's expression, but the sound of their breathing was loud against the stores. Minerva suddenly realised how intimately they were pressed together, how her breasts were rhythmically pushing against his chest, and how his thighs lay entwined with hers, his weight taken by his forearms, flat beside her body. Her breath came shorter, her mouth went dry.

'You can't be very comfortable,' Albus murmured finally. His breath was on her cheek; she closed her eyes and resisted the urge to make a noise that would only be construed as a moan.

'I am,' Minerva denied, and was shocked to hear her voice so low and sultry; she hadn't realised she owned a voice like that.

'You are, are you?' he said, the timbre of his voice dangerous, sexy. He shifted his weight so that it pressed on her more, a shiver of tension and delight made her tremble.

The chocolate taste on his breath was close to her lips, Minerva felt the ache in her rise, giving her courage more easily accessed in the dark, she tilted her head and her lips found his for a lingering one kiss, she finished by briefly touching her tongue to his lips. Albus drew in a sharp breath.

'My share of the chocolate,' she said, shakily.

'It's all yours,' he said hoarsely.

There was a hardness pressing against Minerva's thigh, and for a moment her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of – but it was exceptionally long if it was – _well_. Ah-hem. Thin too. Extremely thin, it couldn't be – well, Albus wouldn't have – _well_. Ah. Oh right, of course, well that was a relief. Her wand. What a relief, it would have been quite alarming if – well, if, _well_…

She loosened a hand and reached for it, snaking down between their bodies and causing Albus a momentary pang of shocked astonishment, which he could be forgiven for.

'_Lumos__,_' she whispered and light flared between them, faces suddenly, shockingly in focus, and close, very close. Awkwardness suddenly replaced the tension, and Albus quickly rolled off her and stood, offering her a hand, trying to smile as his heart thudded against his ribs.

'So, great minds think alike, no?' he smiled genially, unwilling to release her hand.

'What?' asked Minerva, confused, her mind still clouded with the desire of a minute ago.

'Chocolate,' supplied Albus, helpfully.

'Oh – yes,' replied Minerva stiffly. She couldn't _believe_ she had been quite so forward!

'Well,' said Albus into the silence, _un_helpfully.

'Well,' echoed Minerva, taking a deep steadying breath. Albus was still holding her hand.

'This seems silly,' Albus said, rather sharply. Minerva raised her chin. 'No, not _this_,' Albus clarified, squeezing her hand. 'Just this… awkwardness.'

'Yes it does,' Minerva confirmed. 'Let's start over.'

'It always seems to start in the kitchens,' Albus murmured. Minerva grinned. 'Chess?' he suggested.

'Chocolate?' she answered.

'My rooms?'

'If you promise to behave yourself,' Minerva teased.

Albus raised one eyebrow and Minerva flushed pink. 'I'll be the perfect gentleman,' he assured her, a twinkle in his eyes.

'How disappointing,' sighed Minerva, summoning the chocolate with her wand and giving his hand a tug, leading them both back to the larder entrance, Albus quite delightfully enjoying her flirting.

.

* * *

_My Minerva,_

_I fear this missive shall be the last text I ever scribe. The annual confederation summit is proving to be the best cure for my insomnia that I have yet encountered. Alas, my snoring has proven to be my Achilles' heel, no sooner have I dozed off during one of Count Verlicht's interminable lectures than some helpful colleague prods me awake and I am forced to endure. Fawkes burst prematurely into flame this Monday past, I suspect as a mere chick life here is less of a burden._

_I look forward, with ever increasing impatience to my holiday with you at Murray Manor. If, when I finally arrive, I should happen to burst into relieved sobbing upon your shoulder- please do not be alarmed, I have to grieve the loss of my time with you._

_I should not be so dismissive of the confederation, there have been some interesting developments with regards my petition for Muggle born rights, but I shall not go into detail here, you may anticipate this for later (I would not, of course, be so cruel!)._

_With only two days to go, I have little news left to impart, but to thank you for your letters, without which, despite your sardonic comments, I feel I would have lost my sanity._

_Yours entirely,_

_Albus & Fawkes_

Minerva McGonagall gave a happy little sigh and put the letter carefully down on the breakfast table, her sister narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, but Winston intervened.

'Whatever you are about to say, my dear, might I suggest you don't?' he said mildly. Cecelia turned narrower eyes on him in reproach.

'Are you telling me what to do, _husband?_'

Minerva reached for a crumpet and ignored them, still smiling. _Wait_ she suddenly thought with concern,_ he snores?_

'No,' said Winston, with a wicked glint in his eyes, 'I'm telling you what _not_ to do!'

_Maybe he was just joking _Minerva's thoughts continued, _he signed, 'yours entirely' again! _She gave another little sigh as she reached for the tea pot.

'Winston!' snapped Cecelia, pointing the butter knife at him, 'you best not be serious. I am your _wife_ not your... your… Arabian _slave _girl!'

'Yes dear,' conceded Winston, successful in his attempt to turn her away from his sister-in-law's love concerns.

'And don't think I haven't noticed what you're trying to do!' Ceci said with another flourish of the knife, as her toast became gradually colder.

'And what might that be, my lovely wife?'

_Wait, why was she concerned about his snoring?! Honestly Minerva, you're not even officially dating and you have the man in your bed! _At which thought said lady blushed and bit into her crumpet hard.

'You are trying to distract me from Minerva!' Ceci declared triumphantly.

'Oh,' winced Winston, having lost once again.

'What?' asked Minerva, having heard her name and swallowed her mouthful.

'Another letter?' pointed out Ceci, unnecessarily pointing the knife at the accused.

'Yes,' Minerva confirmed, shrugging. 'So?'

'So what does it say?'

'It's private!' retorted Minerva indignantly. 'Don't be so nosy! You used to tell Des his nose would grow.'

'That was if he told lies,' Minerva was informed acerbically. 'I'm just curious as to when this mystery guest will be arriving! I wish you would tell us who it is!'

'Just a friend.'

'Hah! No friend makes you blush like that! What kind of sordid details are in those things?'

Minerva stuck her tongue out, in a decidedly childish display of defiance, her sister huffed, and went to spread some butter on her toast, now cold, she took out her wand to re-heat it, and combined, both Minerva and Winston cried:

'NO!'

Ceci jumped and dropped her wand, 'What _is_ the matter with you two?'

'Ceci, last time you did that you set the table cloth on fire,' Minerva reminded her.

'Just once!'

'Actually, twenty-two times over the course of our marriage,' Winston provided helpfully, earning himself a fuming glare. 'This is why we have Buffer's! You were simply made for grander things than household spells.'

Slightly mollified Ceci took a steaming piece of toast from the house-elf, who had winked into place as Minerva and Winston had cried out.

Minerva stood and slurped disgracefully at the remainder of her tea. 'He arrives in two days,' she said, quickly exiting the room before Ceci could open her mouth.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore apparated into the grounds of Murray Manor, two purple plaid bags and a phoenix beside him, the sun was bright, the clouds looked soft and the grass had never been so green. His walk up the driveway was more of a meander, having shrunk his bags (much to Fawkes' delight – the bird hated to clash) and divested himself of travelling cloak.

He saw Minerva stretched out on a deck chair on the front porch, wearing a floral muggle summer dress, her toes curling in the sun and a floppy straw hat shielding her face from the heat. Deliberately he concealed his approach, until close enough to reach out and tickle her feet with his long fingers.

She shrieked, loudly enough to startle the circling phoenix, high above, and jumped upright, revealing a face, which, whilst it bore similarities to Minerva's own, was definitely not Minerva's.

It was incredibly embarrassing, and he had thought himself past such mortification. 'I'm very sorry Mrs Murray,' he apologised quickly as the lady he had accosted sat down again, apparently speechless.

There was the sound of running feet and then the actual Minerva rounded the corner with her wand out, closely followed by Mrs Murray's husband, a rather dirtier straw hat on his head.

There was a rather awkward silence as the four of them gathered around the deck chair and the hand flapping lady.

'He tickled my feet!' Ceci finally managed, wildly.

'He what?' cried Winston, bushy brows rising.

'You _what_?' exclaimed Minerva, staring at him wide-eyed.

'I thought she was you!' Albus declared weakly.

Minerva's lips twitched. Winston roared with laughter, making his poor wife jump again.

'You thought I would wear a floral dress?' Minerva asked, raising one eye in mock horror. Albus glanced at her apparel – a pair of navy shorts and a loose shirt that had seen better days.

'Apparently not,' he said, as Minerva also began to laugh.

Ceci was still looking affronted, and so he made haste to apologise again.

'But what are you _doing_ here?' Ceci asked, glaring in despair at her hooting relatives.

Albus was surprised and a little concerned. 'Didn't Minerva tell you?'

'I was about to,' interjected Minerva, ceasing her laughter with some effort. 'Ceci, Albus is the friend I invited to stay.'

'Oh,' Ceci murmured, understanding dawning. 'Well, you could have warned us! The house is a mess, it needs dusting, and the room should have been aired…'

'Which is exactly why she didn't tell you,' Winston murmured into her ear as Minerva drew Albus away, tucking her hand into his arm, still grinning.

'Not exactly how I envisaged my arrival,' murmured Albus into her ear.

'Welcome back to Murray manor,' she greeted, and reaching up, planted a kiss on his bearded cheek.

* * *

That night Albus Dumbledore sat sleepless on the window seat of the guest bedroom, slightly chilly without a dressing gown, staring at the stars spangled across the black night sky. He had spent the rest of the day after his arrival pleasantly occupied with Minerva on a tour of the grounds and dinner with her sister and brother-in-law, but now at the time he should be abed, sleeping off the summit and his travel he found himself restless and disturbed. And he had no idea why. His toes began to cramp in the chill air, so he wriggled them and then decided to go for a stroll. Perhaps if he found the kitchens he could make himself some hot chocolate, either that or he could read some of the paperwork he had taken away from the conference, a notion that did not fill him with joy.

He stood quietly and crept across the polished floor, boards creaking in an ominous manner; hopefully, he thought, he did not need to lose weight.

The house was still beyond his room, old rugs rough against his bare feet (where on earth had he packed his damn slippers?), ancient family portraits raising their eyebrows and pursing their lips in disapproval. He found the kitchen fairly easily, after only two mistaken doors; his stomach had yet to let him down, it invariably found food. Only, as he approached the stove to light the hob, the kitchen door groaned open again and Minerva flowed through, the shadows of night a halo around her quick form.

They both stopped, Minerva initially surprised to find him in their kitchen, before she grinned and asked:

'Couldn't sleep?'

Albus shook his head ruefully, 'you too?'

'Yes. I'm glad you're up, I was thinking of your hot chocolate.'

She was wearing his dressing gown, the satin red monstrosity with the great fur trim. 'That is why I am not only awake but cold,' he said, pointing at it and looking amused, Minerva blushed.

'It's been almost a year, you've had plenty of time to buy a new one!' she declared defensively, somewhat embarrassed to be caught with such blatant sentimentality.

'Perhaps it is time to give it back,' he suggested, lighting the hob with a quick flash of wandless magic.

Minerva was disturbed,; was he saying that seriously, did he mean to end the relationship that had started with that very act of his giving it to her?

'If only so I can finish what I started,' Albus continued, turning back to face her, the hob glowing orange behind him.

'What did you start?' she asked; she couldn't remember.

'A compliment I never completed.'

Now she remembered how he had hesitated, how he had started genuinely, and finished with her dragon hide boots.

'How do I know the compliment is worth the dressing gown?' she smiled, a little shyly.

'True,' Albus mused. 'Perhaps then, a compromise? You lend me the gown for a short time, so that I might have the opportunity to speak the words long dormant, and then you may have it back, for always.'

In answer, Minerva swept the dressing gown from around her shoulders and stepped lithely forward to hand it, heavy, to him. He took it and pulled it around his own, broader shoulders; it smelt of lavender- her perfume.

When he looked back he immediately realised she was wearing that same nightie, the shining silk material, the delicate straps and scooped neckline. He made her flush by his gaze, and he quickly pulled his eyes up, feeling a touch lecherous.

He didn't quite have the courage to say the words whilst gauging her reaction, and so he reached for a hanging milk pan as he spoke.

'That night, as we came out of the Gryffindor common room, I meant to say,' he stuttered a little as it came down to it, 'I meant to say – you were an, an incredible beauty to behold at three am.'

He summoned the milk jug and poured a generous amount in the pan, reducing the heat a little. Minerva had made no move, and in the silence he felt pressured to lighten the tension.

'Although I did genuinely admire your dragon hide boots,' he added frivolously. Minerva chuckled.

'I think that was worth the loss of the dressing gown,' she said, and the smile that was in her voice gave him the courage to look up.

She was smiling -a little crooked tilt of her lips, and the relief he felt at that simple gesture was immense. Wordlessly he held out an arm and she came forward to be enveloped beneath the voluminous red velvet. They stood together in the glow of the Aga as he made them both hot chocolate.

'I think I can go to bed now,' said Minerva after they had consumed their drinks at the kitchen table, the dressing gown looped around both their shoulders.

'As can I,' Albus concurred. He stood, helping her up with a gentlemanly hand. 'Here,' he said, removing the gown. 'I believe this is now yours.'

* * *

.

'You don't seriously think that's a good idea Albus!' cried Minerva, incredulously.

'And why not?'

'Look, I think the idea of House integration is very noble and … progressive, but it will result in War!'

'I simply believe that if the Houses are forced to work together, to cooperate, then inevitably a greater respect for the capabilities of the other will result!'

They were seated on the veranda, under the shade of the roof, a sheaf of papers messily pulled together on the wooden table, Albus was striding a worn path across the slats and Minerva was leaning back against the rail.

'They're _teenagers_ Albus! Curses, jinxes and poisons will result – not _peace_!'

'You are far too cynical,' he protested.

'I'm realistic is what I am!' sighed Minerva, rolling her eyes, they had been having this debate for three days now, interrupted by one bout of kite flying – until Fawkes had set it on fire.

Ceci stepped out onto the porch with a large jug of iced tea, followed by Buffers bearing a plate of cheese and cucumber sandwiches and two glasses.

'Cynical,' muttered Albus, still pacing.

'Realistic,' retorted Minerva.

'Mind-numbingly infuriating!' snapped Ceci, slamming the jug down on the table and splashing the loose papers.

'Who?' queried Minerva.

'_Both_ of you_!_' Ceci dragged clawed hands through her neat hair. '_Three days_ of the _same argument_!'

Albus stood still and glanced across at a grinning Minerva.

'Perhaps it is time to declare a truce,' he suggested wryly, as a frustrated Cecelia poured them drinks and spilt yet more iced tea.

'Not until you admit that your romantic notion of unity is both foolish and absurd!' stated Minerva firmly – her sister made a small squeak of stifled irritation and slammed the veranda door behind her.

Albus strolled across to face her. 'Never!' he denied her.

'Then we have no truce!' Minerva smirked.

'You are quite delightful when you are passionate,' said Albus, smirking back, Minerva flushed. 'And even more so when you are embarrassed,' he added.

'I am not embarrassed!'

Albus put his hands on the rail, one each side of her. 'Oh?' he asked, 'even when surrounded?' he leant forward until they were nose to nose, her summer robes rustling against his light trousers.

'Even when surrounded,' she repeated, her eyes on his bright blue ones as her lips breathed against his.

'Concede defeat,' he ordered.

'Or what?' she challenged.

'Or I shall eat your share of the sandwiches,' Albus threatened, Minerva's lips twitched into a smile.

'You wouldn't dare!'

'Watch me!' he slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her up against him, involuntarily she gasped – and immediately he said: 'I win!'

'Damn,' grumbled Minerva. 'You cheated!'

'Can I help that I'm so damn attractive?' teased Albus outrageously.

'And delusional!' she added in a sing song voice. She sashayed across to the table and grabbed a few sandwiches, 'And Albus?' she called as he joined her and picked one up.

'Mmm?' he said vaguely, checking the contents by pulling apart the small triangular slices.

She took her lunch across to the front steps and sat down. 'I'm _more_ than delightful when I'm passionate.'

He dropped his sandwich.

'I win,' declared a chuffed Minerva, and stretching her legs out into the warmth of the sun, bit into the bread.

* * *

August was fast progressing and the sun was baking the earth dry and the people brown. Five days at Murray Manor found Albus Dumbledore in front of the hallway mirror ruefully examining his rather pink nose. A fabulously brown Minerva approached him from behind, a sympathetic smile (one that threatened to turn cheeky) and a small pot of Ursula's Unguent for Peeling Protuberances in hand.

'Our hike yesterday has had unfortunate side-effects,' he said, wriggling his nose and wincing as the skin cracked.

'Never fear,' reassured Minerva 'I come bearing gifts!'

'Then you are most welcome! Unless you have Greek roots.'

Minerva grinned and unscrewed the lid to reveal a silver, viscous ointment smelling rather of liquorice. She wrinkled her own nose in distaste, 'It might help your sunburn but it'll do nothing for the gnats.'

'I'll survive,' he murmured as she reached up and gently coated his once-broken nose, the salve turned transparent as it cooled on the hot skin, he caught her hand as it fell and brought it to his lips.

'I thought we might go muggle tenpin bowling tonight,' he suggested, still clasping her gel-sticky hand.

'Muggle tenpin bowling?' she repeated, sceptically. 'Really?'

'Really,' he echoed her. 'If you will consent to be my date.'

It was the first time that he had used that word; they had been flirting outrageously for the last four days, each one trying to make the other blush, but it had felt harmless, even if Ceci had taken to rolling her eyes so much that the dining room's ceiling was being repainted, her upwards gaze having noticed its pallor. It was a game, a new game perhaps, but none-the-less Minerva had felt the safety in it, the boundaries unspoken but respected. It had relieved the tension over the ever-present, yet unasked question about the exact nature of their relationship. She wasn't exactly sure she wanted to move those boundaries yet. This side of the hurdle was predictable and full of the warmth and the happiness she felt just being in Albus' company. The other side was full of uncertainty and a possible return to Albus's mercurial changes of attitude toward her.

She had been silent a little too long, for Albus cleared his throat a little awkwardly and she returned her gaze to his face and his curious eyes.

'Something wrong?' he asked.

'No, of course not,' she denied falsely.

Albus looked at her keenly and she realised her lie was evident, but this was hardly the time to have _that_ conversation, she was too _afraid_ to have that conversation!

Albus sighed and released her hand. 'My choice of words was perhaps ill-advised.'

'No!' Minerva quickly assured him, and then winced at how quickly she had responded. 'Sorry.'

'Perhaps no is the word you wish to say,' commented Albus distantly, turning away.

'Don't you dare!' hissed Minerva furiously, grabbing his arm and dropping the small pot of Ursula's Unguent to roll unheeded beneath the Grandmother clock opposite. 'Don't you dare do that!' She pulled him back around to face her.

'Do what?' queried Albus, his heart sinking still further.

'Shut me out! Shut me out like you always do! How am I ever supposed to love you if you won't let me in?'

Minerva was surprised to see Albus's eyes light up. 'What are you smiling at? I'm shouting at you!' It was distinctly irritating to have the man smile at her whilst she was trying to be angry.

'Perhaps clarification is in order,' Albus murmured, still looking inexplicably happy.

'_Perhaps_?' snorted Minerva.

'I have enjoyed our repertoire these past five days, but I would like to accord you the respect of making our encounters less frivolous by taking you out for a date. Such an opportunity would allow for more intimate conversation. Does that help?'

'So help me Albus, if you're patronising me…'

'I would never dare, and am most certainly not!' declared Albus firmly as Minerva wagged a finger almost comically in his face.

Minerva paused her finger wagging and hesitated, she was halfway between wanting to be angry with him and wanting to process what he had just said.

'Intimate conversation…' she repeated vaguely.

'Just how intimate is up to you,' added Albus calmly, but with a glint in his eye, that woke Minerva up.

'Just what kind of lady do you think I am?' she demanded, but her ire was self-mocking and her smile teasing.

'My Minerva, you are ever your own.'

She shook her head wryly. 'Ten points, Mr Dumbledore, for the right answer.'

'Then we have a date?' he inquired carefully.

She considered him while his heart slowed to swallow each moment of her silence in anticipation.

'Yes,' she agreed, as she had been intending to say all along.

* * *

At eight pm sharp Minerva was still in her room. Albus, she knew, was already downstairs, dressed in a muggle suit with a money bag of muggle notes. She, on the other hand, was still staring disconcertedly at her reflection. Ceci had leant her dress, a simple affair with a full skirt, sea blue and knee length. But that didn't stop it being alarmingly low cut. Robes buttoned up, which was why Minerva preferred them to dresses; and Ceci's affair was distinctly unbuttoned, falling in a tight swoop between her breasts and leaving her to wonder how on earth they had tanned so bronze when she had spent all summer in old shirts and tatty summer robes. She slipped slim feet into Ceci's matching sandals (oh the sheer _Witch Weekly_ of it!) and gave it up for the best.

Ceci was waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking more anxious than Minerva felt.

'Where have you been?' she hissed. 'I was beginning to be afraid you weren't coming down this _year_!'

'Don't exaggerate,' reprimanded Minerva. 'I'm here now.' She flounced past her sister and entered the drawing room with a great deal more confidence than she felt. Albus was stood be the fire place, his money pouch twisted around his fingers; apparently she wasn't the only nervous one. She meant to say _Ready?_ But the word didn't come out as Albus started and tripped slightly starting forward, his eyes suddenly hungry, taking her in, turning her hot and cold in response.

'Well,' said Winston awkwardly, standing from the armchair where Minerva had failed to notice him. 'Have a lovely night. Ceci.' He took his wife somewhat forcefully by the arm and steered her out of the room from where she had followed Minerva in.

Left alone Minerva suddenly felt unaccountably shy. Albus stepped up, without tripping. 'There are no words,' he said ruefully.

Minerva looked sceptical. 'You've seen me in my nightwear many a time Albus.'

'It's not quite the same. This time I'm allowed to …appreciate the … view.'

She raised her eyebrow askance, unfortunately her cheeks flushed, giving her real feelings away.

'Shall we depart?' suggested Albus, taking her arm into his own, feeling her slim figure brush against his side, unadorned by the usual layers.

They apparated on the corner of a fairly busy muggle street, behind an overgrown hedge; as they emerged a group of muggle men whistled loudly, their intimation obvious. Minerva was annoyed but Albus merely chuckled.

'A little previous,' Minerva muttered, and felt Albus squeeze her arm. The large bowling complex was gaudy and loud, the rattle of muggle machinery and the long rumbling of bowls surrounded them as they entered and for the life of her Minerva could not see Albus's attraction to the place.

'It's the game, not the setting,' Albus said, quite possibly reading her mind. He was smooth in dealing with muggle money although his suit caught a few odd glances, perhaps it was the colour, a very vibrant green; they soon found themselves with their own aisle, although not their own shoes.

'Are you familiar with the game?' Albus asked her politely.

'Knock the pins down by rolling a lump of a ball? Yes, I think I can master the basics,' Minerva answered a little acerbically, the unfamiliar environment making her nervous. It wasn't so long since her days as an Auror. She picked up a ball with both hands and nearly dropped it on her feet, only Albus's quick intervention saved her toes.

'You place your fingers in these holes to carry the ball,' he said and slipped her fingers in, one by one. 'And then-' he guided her to the top of the alley. 'You swing your arm back-' he stood at her back, his arm along hers as together they swung back, 'and-' they swung forward, 'release!' The ball rolled off her fingers and slipped slick and fast to knock five of the seven pins down with a pleasing crash. Minerva grinned and turned around to smirk at Albus, he was so close they were nose to nose and without a pause he leant forward and kissed her. It was only a very brief kiss, and Albus looked surprised at his own action but Minerva thought, as she went to get another ball that she might just see what Albus liked in the sport after all.

* * *

They returned home somewhat later than planned, just past midnight. Albus had taken her for something called pizza, not an elegant meal by any means, and then Minerva had insisted on another game of bowling, determined to beat him ninth time round.

'You let me win!' whispered Minerva, as they crept through the front door and discarded outer garments.

'You won the tenth fair and square,' protested Albus.

'Don't forget the twelfth,' Minerva reminded him wickedly. 'I've never seen someone loose so badly.'

'May I remind you, my Minerva, that I am your one and only opponent, ever?' Minerva grinned in reply. 'I must say, I think the night went admirably well. Apart from the gilly water incident.'

'How was I supposed to know they don't serve it in muggle bars?'

'How indeed?' Albus mused rhetorically.

They stopped by the foot of the stairs, suddenly uncertain how to end the night.

Albus broke the silence. 'I have a theoretical question I would like your input on.'

'Oh?' asked Minerva cautiously.

He turned to face her properly, and reached for her hands. 'Is it appropriate to kiss a woman on the first date?' His thumbs sketched a line along her palm.

'It depends,' said Minerva, as his fingers traced a feather light path onto her wrist.

'On what?' he asked, his fingers reached her forearm and she swallowed against the butterflies in her stomach.

'On how long she's been waiting for that kiss.'

There was a moment where he just looked at her, those bright blue eyes gleaming and her heart beating in response to the sensation of his hands moving up past her trembling elbows, and she felt like a girl, inexperienced and hesitant, and he felt like a young man, heady with the rush of his hands on her body.

'My Minerva,' he breathed and he lifted one of those soothing hands to run a finger along her jaw, braving a thumb along her bottom lip as it parted and he felt the heat of her breath. Minerva's lips tingled with his gesture and then he dropped his hand to place it in the small of her back, and suddenly he wasn't at all gentle as he pulled her forward, against him, but that was what she wanted- to feel him lose control, to see the fierce desire in his eyes. No barriers, no distance, just heat and need in a man she had loved for one long, lonely year.

'Minerva...' but it was a growl of longing and hunger against her cheek, his beard brushing her chin, she leaned into his body and his lips grazed hers -

BANG

They both jumped and looked around for the source of the crash. A large tawny was lying on the window sill outside the exceptionally clean hallway window, an envelope in its unconscious beak. They looked back at one another, acutely conscious of their physical proximity. Albus was in control of himself again, his smile had a touch of regret, but Minerva suspected he felt some relief; a suspicion doubled when he quickly released her and strode to the window to recover the letter.

'It's from the Ministry,' Albus told her, some scant minutes later. 'I'm needed.' He glanced back at her, but Minerva was cool and collected by the banister post.

'Of course,' she said blandly.

'I am afraid our holiday will have to be cut short,' he added sombrely.

'I quite understand,' said Minerva tightly. He looked surprised at her easy compliance.

'I apologise for the inconvenience.'

Her cheek twitched; the _inconvenience!_ 'It's no bother Albus. I'll have the house elves send your things to Hogwarts.' She turned to climb the stairs and heard the front door open behind her; when she looked back, it was closed; bitterness enveloped her, she indulged it, ignoring the single pathetic tear that traced the same path his finger had.

Outside Albus took deep steadying breaths of the warm night air and felt ashamed to feel so relieved, a moment later he cast the matter from his mind, and apparated into the foyer of the Ministry, fully the calm and collected Headmaster of Hogwarts.

* * *

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_Author: If you've read to the end, then Bless you! And if you've stayed with this fic for the enduring past years, I salute you! I hope you enjoyed this latest installment. CC_

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